Illuminated by the Silvery Glow
by hoenheim-of-light51
Summary: A tale of affections between the military dogs. EdxRiza. Italic sections are flashbacks, and there will be more chapters. It'll be a while, but there will be more.
1. Illuminated by the Silvery Glow

**Illuminated by the Silvery Glow**

**A Tale of Affections Between the Military Dogs**

It was unusually peaceful in the large city of Central; the sky was a cloudless blue and a playful breeze was blowing across the deep green blades of grass. Riza wore a smile as bright as the sun above as she stepped into the office.

The room's only occupants were Lieutenants Havoc and Breada as well as Master Sergeant Furey. 

Even at the military's headquarters there was an air of tranquility. No one was saying a word; they were all off in their own thoughts, soaking up the sunlight and harmony. Breada was toying with a stray piece of his own red hair and Havoc was pushing his unlit cigarette around his lips with his tongue. A beaming timepiece hung by the door and chimed the hour of 5.

"Good afternoon," she said with a cheerful salute.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Hawkeye," Furey said matching her salute.

Havoc and Breada nodded, mimicking the gesture slowly. The two eyed her curiously as she placed her things neatly on the table, noticing the grace of her movements and the small bounce in her step.

Havoc was the first to speak, his voice a secretive mumble, "The Lieutenant seems rather chipper today."

"Yeah," Breada replied in the same quiet tone, "I've never seen her so happy before."

Furey chuckled, "That's because Edward is here today."

"Edward?"

"You mean you haven't noticed? That smile has been on her face ever since the Colonel told us he'd be coming."

A pensive silence descended on the soldiers as the words of the Master Sergeant slowly began to sink in, broken only by Riza's quiet, joyful humming at the other end of the table.

Havoc coughed, "You think that the Lieutenant, calm and organized Lieutenant Hawkeye, has a crush on crazy and unpredictable Edward Elric?"

Furey nodded, looking at them as though it should be obvious.

At that moment, Riza got up to exit the room, "Master Sergeant? Could you come help me with something?" 

Furey's ears perked up, "Yeah," with a grunt he stood and went to Riza's side.

As soon as she grabbed the knob, Edward entered from the other side.

"Hello Edward." The smile grew with her salute as she stepped aside to allow him entry.

"Oh! H-hey Lieutenant," he blinked and added as an afterthought, "Master Sergeant."

Nothing more was said until the door was nearly shut, "Call me Riza," she muttered, hoping he was the only one who heard.

The door clicked closed as he began to respond; leaving him standing open-mouthed and red in the face. He turned to see two soldiers grinning mischievously and the sight sent a small shiver up his spine, "What?"

"Well, well, I guess Furey was right."

"Although I have to say, I never would've thought that it'd be true."

Ed approached them slowly, "What are you two talking about?"

"You don't know?" Havoc said as he stood.

Breada rose with him, "That smile makes it so obvious."

Edward blinked, "Oh, you mean Lieutenant Hawkeye? So she's in a good mood, it's not surprising on a day like this."

"True, if that was what was making her so happy."

"Huh?"

The Lieutenants sighed and rolled their eyes. Apparently they'd forgotten that they'd also had to be _told _this information.

"I'll put it this way," Havoc winked, "the only time she smiles like that is when you're here."

"Huh!" Ed cocked an eyebrow, "You think that…she has a _crush_ on me?"

"We don't think, Edward, we _know_."

Edward's eyes widened and he blushed deeply, "R…really?"

Breada nodded, "Definitely." Quite enjoying himself, and the sight of Edward blushing, he smirked, "And could it be that you feel the same?"

"W-what! N-n-no!" 

They weren't convinced by his stammered response and the two soldiers laughed out loud, "Yeah sure," Havoc said sarcastically.

Breada threw an arm around Ed's shoulder, "There's no need to be embarrassed about it Ed." They chuckled again but smiled understandingly, "So, are you gonna tell her?"

"Well-"

The opening of the door made them all jump and their heads snapped to see the identity of the intruder. Riza looked at them and smiled, "Am I interrupting something?"

"No!" Havoc said as he removed Breada's arm from Ed's shoulder, "In fact we were just leaving." They sped out of the room, leaving Edward and Riza alone. They looked at each other and blinked, blushing slowly in unison.

* * *

_It was after the incident at Lab Five. I don't remember how long I'd been in the hospital_, _but it__must've been early in my stay._

_The hour was late and I was in desperate need of sleep, but the painkillers were wearing off and the wound in my side was throbbing painfully. That wasn't the only thing bothering me. Each image, each memory, from that terrible chamber was a killer bee, jabbing its barbed stinger into my consciousness. I sighed and looked at the clock; it was almost midnight. Which was why it was so surprising to hear a knock on the door._

_"Edward?" said a muffled female voice. "Are you awake?"_

_"Yeah. Come in."_

_Lieutenant Hawkeye walked in with a small smile on her face, "I'm sorry. I didn't wake you did I?"_

_"Lieutenant Hawkeye? Nah I was up anyway." I blinked as she pulled a chair up to the side of my bed. This was strange; I wasn't expecting the Lieutenant to come here. Not that I had any complaints. The Lieutenant was nice and-I would never tell her so-I really liked her. As of late, I'd noticed myself really looking forward to the times I'd be in Central and it was the knowledge of her being stationed there that caused me to break into a run as soon as headquarters came into view._

_"Where's Alphonse?"_

_"He went for a walk. What are you doing here?"_

_"I was worried about you. So I came to see if you were doing ok." _

_"At midnight?"_

_"Well, I was up working late at the office and the hospital is on my way home anyway." I could swear that there was a hint of red in her cheeks._

_"Thanks. I need the company," I chuckled but was stopped short as another jolt of pain shot through my nerves. I groaned and clutched my side._

_Within seconds she was standing above me, looking seriously at the hand now holding the aching wound, "What's wrong!" she said._

_My eyes widened, "Uh, nothing, just a little sore."_

_"Take off your shirt."_

_"What!"_

_"Just do it!"_

_Baffled and blushing crimson, I complied. Well, attempted to; my automail was still busted and it was hard to remove the blue hospital-issue top with only one hand. In the end it was the Lieutenant who took it off for me._

_Instantly she went to work examining the red-stained bandages. After a moment she lifted a small roll of gauze from her pocket._

_"I-I can just call the nurse to change the bandages-"_

_She cut me off. "No! I mean…there's no need to bother anyone else since I'm already here."_

_"Alright…"_

_It was not an easy process. My abs were still sore and each time I tried to sit up my side protested with an angry sting. Gently she placed a hand on my back and eased me up into a sitting position. A frisson of contentment raised goose bumps on my arm at the feeling of her hand lightly stroking my skin._

_The air felt good on my injury once the old bandages were removed and I sighed with momentary relief. It was silent as she began to wrap the new gauze around my mid-section._

_"You really scared us Edward."_

_I looked down, "I'm sorry."_

_"What…what happened in there?"_

_"Mh…" This was the thousandth time I'd been asked this question and, just as with the other 999, I kept my mouth shut._

_But when I looked back up at her, I felt completely different. Half her face shone silver in the moonlight, the other half black as pitch. Even in the darkness I could see her eyes sparkling as she looked into mine. She looked so beautiful and so distressed that I found myself longing to tell her everything._

_"That's alright you don't have to say." The disappointment was audible in her voice._

_"It was…horrible." The words came out in response to her discontent. "There were large vials, entire walls, filled with gallons upon gallons of red water. The red glow that came from it was hideous enough. But knowing that…knowing… that…" I swallowed hard, "Knowing that a human soul resided in each drop of that crimson liquid made it that much more grotesque."_

_She kept silent as the words and fears I'd been suppressing came out in a wave of emotion._

_"And then…there was…It was right in front of me. All I had to do was clap my hands and Al would've been returned to normal. The convicts meant nothing to me, their lives meant nothing! But I…I couldn't do a thing if it meant killing someone, even someone I knew nothing about. It was so close…I-I should've…"_

_"Sshh, it's alright. I understand," she said soothingly. "No matter the cause it's hard to kill. Besides, if you don't mind my saying, do you really think that Alphonse or yourself would feel alright knowing you've returned to normal at the cost of another's life?"_

_I shifted my gaze to the window; what was happening to me? The more I looked into her hazel eyes the faster my heart would beat. Once again I flushed as she placed a hand on my cheek and turned my head, forcing our eyes to meet again. The beating in my chest grew louder; our faces were just inches apart._

_"We cannot change the past. What we did or didn't do cannot be reversed and we mustn't let those regrets control our lives." There was a warm smile on the illuminated side of her face._

_I smiled in return, not knowing how to express my appreciation for her benevolence and sincerity. _

_Her smile shrank into a sheepish grin as she removed her hand from my cheek and continued to wind the bandages around me._

_It was then that I noticed the buzzing of the angry bees in my head had ceased, only to be replaced by the beating wings of butterflies in my stomach._

_"All done," she said as she slipped the blue top back onto my bare torso._

_The pain I'd been feeling had completely subsided. Truthfully I didn't really need her help, but it was hard to protest the smooth, slender hands that eased me gently back onto the mattress._

_"Lieutenant?" I muttered sleepily._

_"Hm?" She returned to my side from the trash can where'd she placed my used bandages._

_"Th-thanks."_

_She smiled as she pulled the covers up to my neck, "Try and get some sleep, Edward, ok?"_

_The shadows that had kept her face hidden had disappeared; now the whole of her visage shone in the silvery glow of the moon. "No problem," I closed my eyes and sighed, already feeling myself drifting off. I barely heard the door close, but felt very distinctly the warmth of her hand as she ran it quickly across my cheek._

_It was rare, the next day, to find a moment when my thoughts weren't turned towards the events of the previous evening. Each time the door opened I was expecting her entrance, and at night I fought sleep, making sure to stay awake should a knock come to my door; but she didn't come again. It puzzled me for a while as to why I wished so strongly for her presence, then it finally occurred to me as I stroked the white wrappings she'd placed on me._

_I, Edward Elric, had fallen in love._

The smile on her face didn't waver, in fact it increased as she looked into his eyes and chuckled lightly, "If I didn't know any better I'd say they were forcing us together." 

Edward grinned nervously, "Yeah…"

The subject dropped like a brick, leaving the awkward red dust to fill the air. Riza stepped back to her place at the table to rummage through her things. Her only reason to come back here had been to retrieve a forgotten document, but now that she had the company of whom she'd been awaiting the arrival of, there were suddenly a thousand reasons why her time had to be spent in the room.

As the silence dragged on Ed became anxious, in an effort to break it he blurted out the first thing that came into his mind. "Havoc and Breada are acting strange today."

"Really? I hadn't noticed. How so?"

Crap. Why did he bring _that_ up? "It's just what they're saying. It's weird, not like them."

With a conversation beginning she left the paperwork and made her way back over to him, "Like what?"

"Well they've got this crazy idea that you have a crush on me. And they won't leave me alone about it." Dammit! He shouldn't have said anything in the first place! But it was the same as that time; he could almost see the distress in her eyes glistening in the moonlight.

Riza's eyes widened as blood rushed to her face, "A…crush?"

"I told you it was weird and don't think too much of it. Besides, it was just some stupid rumor; there was no truth behind it." That's right…of course it wasn't true. Any "evidence" they had was purely coincidental. 

"Edward…what they said is wrong. I don't feel that way about you."

Edward nodded, working hard to hide his disappointment. He'd known all along that this wouldn't be possible. So then why did it feel like his heart was breaking in two? "Y-yeah…I know..."

Riza tapped his nose with her fingertip, "You didn't let me finish…"

It was just as before. His heart began to pound as he looked into her eyes, and, as it had been, their faces were extremely close. But there was something different too; he could see that, ever so slowly, the amount of space keeping them apart was decreasing.

"It's not a crush," her voice was a whisper. "What I feel for you, Edward, my affections, are much, much, deeper." When there was but a centimeter of space she placed a trembling hand on his cheek. Her face was scarlet as she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his in a gentle, hesitant kiss.

* * *

_It was after the incident at Lab Five. The hallways were brightly lit despite the hour as I made my way through the hospital._

_It's late, my mind protested, he's probably asleep and you have work in the morning. These thoughts had been running through my head ever since I'd made the decision to come here; luckily my heart spoke louder than reason. Not since before his hospitalization had my mind been at peace and I told myself that worry was the cause. Somehow, in the back of my mind, I knew concern wasn't the only thing that had brought me here. And it was this nameless emotion that had me knocking on the door to his room._

_"Edward? Are you awake?"_

_"Yeah. Come in."_

_I couldn't help but smile when I opened the door, "I'm sorry. I didn't wake you did I?"_

_"Lieutenant Hawkeye? Nah I was up anyway."_

_Though it was in bandages, I was glad to be able to see him. There were rare days he'd be at headquarters and-although he would never know-those days were the ones I looked forward to the most. It was when he was there that I felt the happiest; the grin I wore got me more then a few odd looks from my co-workers. Yet this was the first time I'd been able to talk to him alone. Wait a minute…alone? "Where's Alphonse?"_

_"He went for a walk," he said, looking a little confused. "What are you doing here?"_

_"I was worried about you. So I came to see if you were doing ok."_

_"At midnight?"_

_"Well, I was up working late at the office and the hospital is on my way home anyway." Perhaps it would be better if I didn't tell him that I'd actually been awake debating whether or not to come at all, and also that the hospital is almost a mile from my apartment. I was suddenly very glad it was dark; he wouldn't be able to see my cheeks were still red from the walk over._

_"Thanks I need the company," his laughter stopped, he was in pain._

_"What's wrong!"_

_"Uh, nothing, just a little sore."_

_The wound must be worse than I thought. "Take off your shirt."_

_"What!"_

_"Just do it!" _

_I'm examining his injuries; this is not being done on a whim. I'd been forced to do this many times on the battle field, so I couldn't understand why I blushed as I removed his blue hospital uniform. The bandages beneath were a light shade of red._

_It was pure luck that I had the gauze in my pocket. I had been ordered to deliver it to the infirmary but had then been called away to other business while it was still in my possession. I grinned as I took it out of my pocket._

_"I-I can just call the nurse to change the bandages-"_

_"No! I mean…There's no need to bother anyone else since I'm already here." There was that strange, unidentified emotion again, acting on its own accord._

_"Alright…"_

_He couldn't sit up using his own strength. The pain and fatigue wouldn't allow him movement so I lent him my aid. It frightened me a little; how much pleasure I received when I touched his skin, how rapid my pulse as I removed the bandages covering his wounds._

_The sight of the gash as I began to wrap it anew brought my heart rate down to a slow, sad rhythm. "You really scared us Edward."_

_He looked down, "I'm sorry."_

_"What…what happened in there?"_

_"Mh…"_

_I tried to mask my disappointment when he looked back up at me, "That's alright. You don't have to say." I didn't resent his ambiguity, I merely wished he could understand that knowledge of the truth was not nearly as frightening as was a lack there of._

_"It was…horrible," he was hesitant in speaking. "There were large vials, entire walls, filled with gallons upon gallons of red water. The red glow that came from it was hideous enough. But knowing that…knowing… that…" he paused. "Knowing that a human soul resided in each drop of that crimson liquid made it that much more grotesque."_

_I said not a word as he continued._

_"And then…there was…It was right in front of me. All I had to do was clap my hands and Al would've been returned to normal. The convicts meant nothing to me, their lives meant nothing! But I…I couldn't do a thing if it meant killing someone, even someone I knew nothing about. It was so close…I-I should've…"_

_"Sshh, it's alright. I understand," I said soothingly. "No matter the cause it's hard to kill. Besides, if you don't mind my saying, do you really think that Alphonse or yourself would feel alright knowing you've returned to normal at the cost of another's life?"_

_He looked away again and I found myself truly yearning to gaze into his glowing golden pupils once more. The heat of his cheeks increased when I placed my hand on one to turn his head to stare into his eyes again. "We cannot change the past. What we did or didn't do cannot be reversed and we mustn't let those regrets control our lives."_

_His eyes softened and his lips turned up into a smile. Without realizing it I was smiling as well, though that wasn't the only thing that had occurred without my consent. Throughout the conversation I'd been subconsciously leaning towards him. I flushed when I realized I had begun to calculate how much farther I would have to lean before our lips would be touching. Quickly I removed my hand from his cheek and went back to the bandages._

_"All done," I said as I slid on his blue top and eased him gently back down onto the bed._

_"Lieutenant?"_

_I spun on my heel to face him and walked quickly back to his bed from the trash can, "Hm?"_

_"Th-thanks."_

_I smiled and pulled up the covers. "Try and get some sleep, Edward, ok?"_

_"No problem…" he sighed quietly and closed his eyes._

_I ran my fingers once more across his cheek before I opened the door to leave. The lights in the hallway were blinding and I closed the door without taking a step out of the room. I turned to blink the spots from my vision and caught sight of Edward on the hospital bed. The moonlight glistened on his sleeping countenance, his eyes, though closed, glimmered in its glow as I moved tentatively closer. I could feel my hands shaking slightly when I stroked his hair. Then I leaned down slowly and kissed his forehead._

_The nameless emotion that had brought me here manifested itself when I pulled away. Shouting out its identity in a quiet whisper, "I love you."_

* * *

Edward's eyes shot open and his face turned a bright shade of red.

Riza didn't move from her position or open her eyes. Any moment now he would pull away and she didn't want to see the look of shock, anger, or disgust that would surely be there when he did so. Something happened then, however, that she'd never expected. Edward closed his eyes and threw his arms around her, keeping their trembling lips connected.

Time passed and the two stood motionless in the bright sunlight; neither wanted to stop what each had been wishing for. Eventually the need for oxygen caused Edward to break away first.

"Riza…I don't know what to say," his voice lacked volume. Partially because he was in shock, partially because he'd been holding his breath.

She flushed and squirmed out of his embrace, "I'm sorry. It was a mistake I never should have…"

"That's not what I mean," he said softly. "Riza, it's…I-I, uh…"

She turned reluctantly to look back at him, hazel eyes gazing sadly into his own eyes of gold.

"Please don't be sad," he nearly shouted, "I can't bear to see the one I love unhappy!"

A stunned silence fell upon them. The beating of their hearts was so loud in their own ears that they were surprised the other couldn't hear, and it was this deafening pounding that had Riza convinced her senses were lying.

"Wh-…what?"

"I…" he bit his lip, "I'm not-…I'm not good at saying things like this…"

Cautiously, Riza took hold of his hand, urging him to continue. Her heart beat quickened like an uncertain metronome.

It was that night all over again. Moonbeams of silver danced across her visage, giving it a glow of beauty to rival the stars. The velvety warmth of her hands was comforting and familiar as he entwined his fingers with her own.

With gentle force he pulled her close, as close as she had been at midnight. "Riza," he breathed, their lips nearly touching, "I love you." With one final step, the gap between them closed. 

The rays of the sun seemed to burn even brighter as Riza wrapped her free arm around him. This time she kept her eyes open, and she saw in his gaze the familiar look of longing she'd given him so often.

"Edward," she whispered, removing her lips only slightly to speak. "I love you too." 

"Riza…"

Riza inhaled sharply, "Edward…!" She let go of his hand to throw her other arm around him, pulling him into a passionate embrace while pressing her lips to his in an intense kiss filled with adoration.

Ed gasped; each beat of his heart was an explosion when he put his arms around her. The fervor with which she'd kissed him had shocked him a little and his breathing speed increased when he felt her fingers wind themselves into his flaxen locks.

The air was saturated in the excitement radiating from their bodies. Riza yanked the band from Edward's braid and his long hair cascaded down his back as she ran her fingers through it. Sunflower strands fell to the ground beneath him, having been torn from their resting place, but he felt only pleasure as her slender hands ran through his tresses. Each breath was shallow and quick, sweat dripped down their faces; Edward took a step forward, pushing Riza into the table behind her.

Her hands were shaking when she placed them on her jacket, salty perspiration made the sleeves slip between her fingers, "Too hot," she said breathlessly.

The jacket fell to the ground to reveal the russet t-shirt she wore beneath. Ed gulped; it was a rather tight fit on her. And the heat made it stick even tighter, causing certain features to stand out.

As he watched her chest rise and fall he began to think about the skin beneath the fabric. How smooth and warm it would feel on his fingertips, how much like silk the texture as he caressed it; feeling as he did so the ardent rhythm of her heart beat. His muscles went rigid and he screamed silently at his hands to stay where they were; brawling with their wish to discover exactly how accurate his predictions were.

Riza noticed his tense expression, "What's the matter?"

"Just…the heat."

"I can fix that." Shyly she placed her lips on his once more and snapped open his coat's metal clasp. There was no struggle on either part; Edward held the kiss and lifted his arms for her to remove it. Her hands grasped the shoulders of the jacket so tightly that the tank-top below was lifted off as well. 

Ripples of exhilaration flew through her body. His muscles flexed exquisitely with every breath. Sweaty strands of loose hair stuck messily to his forehead and hung down onto his chest, framing his fantastic features in a manner so striking it left her breathless. A dizzy thrill fogged her mind and in her hysteria she hugged him tightly and fell back onto the table. The clip that held her hair up cracked when her head slammed onto the hard surface.

Chairs crashed to the floor and papers scattered as Edward pushed her further back; finally stopping in the center of the gray plastic. He sat himself up on his shins, placing one leg on either side of Riza and pressing them against her thighs. Each was panting and sweating profusely in the light of the now-setting sun.

Riza looked up at his bare chest and flowing hair, now damp with sweat and glistening in the red glow. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down; slamming his lips onto hers as she clutched sleek handfuls of his blonde hair. Edward's hands slammed onto the table; landing beside each of Riza's shoulders and holding him up. He opened his lips and slipped out his tongue, running it lightly back and forth across her supple skin.

The pounding of her heart was silenced momentarily when its rhythmic beating paused in surprise. It began again with thunderous zeal as her lips parted.

Edward caressed her moist, mellifluous tongue with his own. Riza moaned in the back of her throat, slowly releasing her grip on his hair as a euphoric tremor shook her body and her muscles relaxed.

Without the approval of his mind, his earlier invocations took hold of him. He slid his hand beneath her shirt, putting all his weight on his right arm, and ran his fingers delicately across her stomach. The grip she had on his hair tightened as his hand moved slowly upward.

There was a pause; was he going too far? But Riza grabbed his wrist and moved it up for him. His heart leaped out of his chest when his curious fingers found the softest part of her upper-body. 

Edward's eyes opened to their full extent. His ardency caught in his throat and he pulled away, his breathing was heavy and his tongue hung limply out of his mouth. Riza took advantage of this momentary break and attempted to catch her breath. Though it was extremely difficult as Edward's hand was placed in the center of her chest and she knew he could feel the hyperactive thudding that was her heartbeat.

As they looked into each others eyes, bolts of avid electricity flowed through them; igniting the smoldering embers of desire deep within their hearts until they burned as bright and as fierce as the ruby rays streaming through the windows. 

Riza swallowed hard, her breath coming in short gasps, "Edward…"

Identical thoughts ran through their minds as Ed slipped his hand from beneath her clothes, "Riza…"

Riza grabbed his hand and wrapped her fingers in his; she placed the other on the bottom of her shirt and pulled the edge upward until her belly-button was exposed. Ed could feel the blood flowing hot and fast through his veins; his excitement mounting as Riza let his hand go to totally remove the sweaty shirt. She stopped rather abruptly just before the top was completely off her shoulders.

Ed was about to question her sudden halt when a voice reached his ears, there was someone outside the door. And they could tell by the clarity that he was planning to come in.

They moved like lightning. Edward jumped from the table and landed by his jacket. He slipped it on before tossing Riza her own. She fastened the buttons hurriedly and took out the broken clip in her hair. It snapped in her hand and she tossed it into the trashcan as Ed smoothed out his hair; Riza did the same, crouching by a pile of fallen documents on the floor. Ed leaped over the table and crouched across from her, busying himself with gathering the papers. It was frustrating to be interrupted and they couldn't help but glare at the door until it opened.

The anger on their faces melted away as the doorknob turned and they turned to look back at the paper on the floor.

"Good evening Edward, Lieutenant," Master Sergeant Furey blinked and smiled as he took his first step into the office.

"Good evening," Riza and Edward said in unison

"Colonel Mustang wants those reports, Lieutenant."

"Yes." The stern tone of her voice contrasted greatly with her disheveled appearance. "I apologize for the delay." She grabbed a stack of papers at her feet and straightened them up as she stood.

Furey eyed her curiously. This was the first time he'd seen the Lieutenant with her hair down. Not to mention the office was a mess, and was that _Edward's_ shirt on the floor?

"Master Sergeant Furey." Riza said. Her voice was filled with authority.

"Ma'm?"

"Would you mind delivering them to Colonel Mustang for me?" 

"Oh…uh…yes ma'm!" Furey turned quickly and exited the room; slightly frightened and a little suspicious.

The room went silent as the two waited for the sound of footsteps to die out. Furey had suspicions, that much was certain. But, then again, he didn't know anything and as long as that held true they didn't really care.

"So," Ed raised an eyebrow once the echo of footsteps had ceased, "what's on the paper?"

"Honestly?" Riza removed her ear from the door and walked back over to him. "They're all blank."

"Won't you get in trouble?"

"Don't worry about it, Edward. Besides," she said fondly, trailing a finger down his jaw line.

A blissful shiver ran up his spine and he leaned in closer, "Hm?"

"We have more important matters to discuss," she spoke in a low seductive tone.

Edward's eyes widened and his lips turned up into a sly smile.

Riza's finger stopped at his chin and she lifted his head up; kissing him again as the flames reignited.

Her golden hair felt soft in his hands when he entwined his shaking fingers in the long strands flowing down her back.

"I love you, Edward," Riza murmured against his lips; pulling his body tightly against hers.

"I love you too, Riza," he replied.

Two small shuffles were heard as the blue and black jackets dropped to the floor. Instantly their breathing picked up speed and fresh beads of passionate sweat broke out all across their bodies. Their pulses were racing as they pressed their bare chests tightly against one another.

As they fell back onto the table, their breathing rapid, the glowing red sun made its way behind the horizon. The shadows they cast in the fading light became one, as the rays of the sun were replaced by the radiant beams of the moon.


	2. Daisies and Gunpowder

**Daisies and Gunpowder**

**Love in a Time of War**

_With gentle force he pulled her close, as close as she had been at midnight. "Riza," he breathed, their lips nearly touching, "I love you." With one final step, the gap between them closed._

It was still dark when he opened his eyes. The silver moonlight-wide-awake or half-asleep he would always recognize its glow-was the only source of illumination. A ceiling hung before him, and he deduced that this was because he was lying on his back; below which was a surface too soft to be floor, so he deduced further that he was on a mattress as opposed to ground. Having just awakened, he couldn't be totally sure of too much. In fact, he wasn't even sure where he was at the moment, or how he'd come to arrive here. He should've been worried, but he was only curious when he lifted his head to continue the investigation.

As he scanned the room it occurred to him that this was one of the military-personnel-only apartments. Looking past the foot of the bed, he glimpsed the same generic furniture he'd come to know from his countless stays in military lodgings. A blue jacket worn strictly by soldiers was draped clumsily over the back of a small, gray chair, hanging off as though it had been thrown. What appeared to be a purse lay by the legs of the chair, its contents spilling out slightly. His curiosity morphed into confusion; a uniform and a purse? And then there was something else that was also very unlike his other temporary homes.

Surrounding him was the scent of flowers with petals covered in a fine dust of gunpowder. It was a sweet and strange aroma and he couldn't quite place the breed of flower entwined with the fragrance of shrapnel; however, it was much more pleasant then the musty smell that usually accompanied the scenery. Now he was feeling concerned; it was a bad sign to wake up in a strange place with little or no memory of having arrived. He flinched when he heard a sigh consisting not of his own breath and tensed when the one he guessed was the perpetrator shuffled quietly next to him. With narrowed eyes he turned his head, flexing nothing but the muscles in his neck as he did so.

All apprehension faded with the identity of his roommate.

She lay on her stomach; her head turned to face his. Had her eyes been open, they would've met his gentle, examining gaze. Long strands of blonde hair fell down across her cheek, making random patterns with soft, flaxen threads on her skin and the mattress below. An amiable smile played across his face as he drank in the quiescent view. The longer he regarded the slumbering vision, the clearer his mind became. Memories came rushing back when he breathed in deep the congenial perfume that radiated from his love in repose beside him.

This time the shuffle was his own when he scooted himself closer to her. He placed his hand on her back-which was covered in the fabric of a pajama top of an unknown color-and began to stroke it lightly. The material was soft and silky; it felt nice under his fingers. Though not nearly as nice, he thought with a blush to himself, as the skin that resided just centimeters beneath.

Keeping her eyes closed, she slowly allowed herself to awaken. His touch, however light, was enough to overcome her dreams and it told her that the images in her sleep were more then just a fantasy. Her lips turned up into a small smile, as his hand, unaware of her consciousness, was moving lower and lower on her back until it reached the bottom or her shirt and slid under the fabric to directly brush across her skin. Gradually his face came into view with her raising eyelids. She leaned over, smiling wider when she noticed how little she had to move, and kissed him softly; whispering as she did so, a gentle, "Good morning."

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said, matching her whisper.

"I don't mind," she assured him with another kiss before lying her head back down.

No longer was he worried about where he was, but he still couldn't remember arriving, "Um…Riza?" he mumbled, drowsiness mixed in with the confusion and slight shame. "How did…I mean…We were in the office, weren't we?"

"We _were_," a warm smile and a chuckle simultaneously passed her lips. "But I thought we should spend the night in a more comfortable setting."

"Hm," was Ed's only thought of response. Everything else, every detail, was forever joyfully implanted into his memory; why couldn't he remember getting here?! His fingers, still placed on her back, traced apologetic patterns along her spine.

"Ed, it's alright. You don't remember because you fell asleep. It's not bad, or surprising. We were there for quite a while."

"Asleep!? You mean I…fell asleep on you?"

"Oh no, you were very much awake. Though you looked a bit faint near the end," Riza chuckled again.

It was beginning to come back to him. Heart pounding, body shaking, sweat surging from every pore; yet he also remembered a feeling of calm as he raised himself to his shins shakily, then fell onto the table beside her; head placed on her shoulder. Calm, as well as delight-rimmed pleasure from the events that had ended just minutes earlier, engulfed his racing mind. His already fleeting breath became even harder to catch when he lifted his exhausted, but smiling, eyes to look into those of the woman he so dearly loved.

Her eyes had been just as warm, her heart as fast, her skin as damp. Perhaps it had been this knowledge of her mutual delight that settled him so. He found that the longer he held their gaze, the lower his eyelids fell. Something inaudible, even to him, escaped his lips as sleep engulfed him much too quickly. The last thing he heard uttered to him brought a smile to his face as he drifted into slumber. It was something he'd always longed to hear. She loved him too.

"O-oh…"Ed muttered sheepishly.

"As for how we got here," Riza couldn't help but giggle a little; a sound quite out of character, "you're not _that_ heavy."

A shade of pink rose in his cheeks as her words sank in, "You didn't have to carry me. I could've walked if you'd woken me up…"

"Easier said then done, Edward. You didn't stir at all when I put your pants back on," she spoke playfully; her tone nonchalant as the hand that made its way up across his bare chest to his right shoulder.

The pink faded into a deeper red.

His blush was very clear even in the dim light. The sight of it widened her smile and aroused another small giggle.

This playful, casual, giggling side was as foreign to her as it was to him. Such sounds and gestures were forbidden to a soldier; restricted by an unwritten, unspoken rule. Military personnel were expected to always be focused on their work, always on their guard. Riza was the prime example of this standard; fazed by nothing, looking always to her duties with a constant look of solemnity stamped across her visage.

At one time or another, however, there comes along a certain feeling that is powerful enough to nullify any rule, wash away any standard, and bring a smile to the gravest of faces; a feeling strong enough to soften a hardened soldier.

Riza leaned her head over and kissed his neck, "Don't be embarrassed."

"M-…mhm…" Ed nodded faintly, stretching his neck up subconsciously. Kisses soft and warm like wings of a summertime butterfly made their way slowly up his neck, danced over his chin, then came to rest at his lips; listening with blissful ears to the low content moan rumbling in their recipient's throat.

The infatuated alchemist leaned his head forward, pressing his lips back against hers gently before easing them off with a complacent sigh. Synchronous shivers shot through their smiling forms; each motion brought on by the lips of the other.

Moments of such serene magnitude are rare and quicker than wished by their beholders; a fact that would become clearer than the slowly rising sun at Riza's next words.

Throughout the loving silence, a muffled dawn, the color of roses and lilacs, had gradually begun to open its eyes and shine its beams through the window, "Sunrise…already?"

"It's _what_!?" Edward bolted up, sending white covers flying towards the foot of the bed.

Riza blinked and looked up at him; arm still hanging a bit where his shoulder had been.

"Man, I said I'd be back _soon_! He's gotta be worried sick!" he raised himself from the sheets and began to pace, still rambling, around the room.

"Edward."

"No doubts he'll give me long lecture on…_punctuality _or something; keeping organized, checking the clock. But the worst part is that I've gotta leave so fast! Damn train schedules; only one out of here's at 7-flippin'-o-clock in the morning!

"Edward," Riza stood up, following him with her eyes.

At this point, his personal thoughts came bubbling up with his rant, "Aw, nice going, Ed. So now you're just gonna leave; 'thanks for the wonderful evening, but I've gotta go'!? You _knew_ this was your last day in town, but _no_ you just had to-"

"Edward!" A kind but stern hand came to rest on his shoulder; he stopped the instant he felt it.

Riza placed a single finger on his lips; asking for quiet with a smile and a light fingertip.

"What are you doing, Ed?" her eyes softened with understanding. "If your train leaves at seven, you'll need to be getting ready."

"Ah-…mm…" Ed nodded, still feeling guilty. Even knowing of her understanding couldn't change the way he felt. This scene of someone walking out, and watching the eyes of the one being left behind, was too familiar; being the one walking left a bad taste in his mouth.

Still smiling, Riza gestured to a small table near the door. On its surface was a black jacket folded neatly beneath a matching black tank-top. Beside its legs was a worn pair of heavy, leather boots.

Ed tilted his head again, smiling sadly at the outfit before walking slowly to it.

Why is it, the knowledge of separation seems to make awkward the atmosphere? It could be that it's a matter of speech; there is much one wishes to say before leaving and being left, but a natural desire to tell one everything blocks the sentences and stops any words before they have a chance to pass the tongue. Of course, silence doesn't always indicate discomfort; there are some things that can only be said with the meeting of two people's eyes.

It was not only him leaving, but the rays of the sun that so changed the air in the apartment. Their love had been spoken beneath the moon, their true feelings illuminated by the silvery glow. Darkness and silver was familiar, comforting, safe; beams of an alien shade shed the unwanted light of reality upon them.

Nevertheless, others around them didn't go unnoticed; they both knew other matters required their effort and focus. But they wished that, if only for a little while, they'd be able to see one another, touch one another, be free to lie in the embrace of the other.

Nothing was said after Riza's reassurance. Hushed was the building as Ed placed coverage on his torso, while also tying his hair back up with a mahogany band that, he could tell, was found only by close inspection of the office floor.

Riza didn't move, only listened to his quiet breathing and the ruffling of clothes. Her own apparel had been set in a small basket, as it always was when she got home from headquarters. She'd found it a little funny. That she was thinking about laundry and pajamas-hell, she'd even brushed her teeth-while cradling the one she loved in her arms was nothing short of amusing.

Ed straightened a fold in his jacket and slipped on the boots at his feet; placing himself in an idle stance just before the door.

All this hesitation was almost unbearable. It was hard enough already watching his back make its way to the door; hearing the clock tick strained seconds as he fixed imaginary wrinkles in his clothes only made his leaving harder.

"You'll want to get going," Riza muttered. "You're going to miss your train."

"Mh…" it seemed all he'd been doing lately was nodding.

All movement, even that of time was slowed to crawl as his hand eased towards the doorknob.

"Riza!" he turned swiftly and spoke loudly; both movement and tone making them jump. He took long strides; closing the already small gap-as the apartment wasn't on the large side-that kept them apart. With the same gentle force as used in the moonlight, Edward clasped her hand in both of his own and looked straight into her eyes.

"E-Edward?" Something in his eyes spoke the words before his lips.

"I'm sor-"

Riza cut him off with another finger to his lips, "Don't," she whispered, "please."

Ed said nothing, only gripped her hand a little tighter.

"You have nothing to apologize for; you made no mistake, you did no wrong. Being given the best night of my life from the best man in my life requires no apology," Riza slid her finger slowly off his lips; her own turning up into a consoling smile.

"Riza…" was all he could manage as pink trickled up into his cheeks.

"I love you. No amount of time away or distance apart will ever change how I feel. Your location may change day by day, but I assure you, I'm not going anywhere," she took a small step closer and leaned her head until her lips brushed his with each word. "I'll always be here for you, Edward."

Pink faded once again into a full-out red. It felt good, yet a little embarrassing, to be spoken to with such sweet words; such an experience was very new to both first-time lovers.

Phrases and motions failed them after that; Ed had no response and Riza had said as best she could the feelings from her heart. Anything else, she believed, would just ruin the silence.

Eventually, though, the nagging reason behind their sudden conversation grew into a painful shouting.

It was Riza who spoke first, "Now go," she said softly, hiding her anxiety, "Alphonse's gotta be worried about you."

"Yeah, probably," Ed raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers tenderly before letting her arm drop. He turned around again and grasped the doorknob; a sign to both of them that there would be no more unexpected outbursts.

The possibility of this being their final meeting was something neither of them could ignore. Riza'd heard but a small summary of just one of Edward's multiple exploits in the hospital; there was much, much more he hadn't told her or anyone else in the military and she knew without asking that his reports were just vague enough to be true.

Everything returned to a higher-than-normal speed as soon as his hand seized the handle. In a tick of the clock the door was flung open to a brightening hallway, another second later he'd switched his grip to the entering knob while putting one foot over the threshold.

All Riza could see was his back. His eyes were unable to be seen for the lengthening distance and the wooden barrier inching its way between them. But this time, she couldn't turn his head.

He stopped; heels placed inches away from the edge of the door and said confidently to the hallway the first thing that came to his mind. "Riza, this isn't the last time, I swear that I'll be back. I'm not going to leave you all alone, you got that!?"

Riza nodded slowly, finding it impossible to speak through the wet haze clouding her vision.

Ed waited a moment, wanting desperately to hear her voice. When it became clear she wasn't going to respond, he filled the silence once more with the sad sigh of a closing door, ending with a despondent click when it locked.

Blurrier and wetter the space in front of her eyes became. She was slightly, painfully, glad he couldn't see her right now; she must've looked pitiful with her eyes moistening like that. All of a sudden, Riza shook her head violently as if to clear it and shouted, actions and words no longer controlled by her mind, "Edward!?"

"Y-yes, Riza?" he squeezed his eyes shut and fought to keep his voice even. The sadness in her tone was a hard slap to his cheek. "_I can't bear to see the one I love unhappy!_" There had been few statements truer than his exclamation and, though he couldn't see her face, her unhappiness was just as clear as it had been in her deep hazel eyes.

"I'll be waiting for you," a sad smile eased across her lips; despite its unavoidable sad appearance and although he couldn't see it, she wanted to send him off with a friendly contortion.

"You won't be waiting long," at that he began his trek down the hallway; moving his feet as fast as he could without running. He didn't want to hear her sad anymore, but his mind created enough words and images that her morose countenance, murmuring equally anguished goodbyes, followed him out the door and into the streets.

Much to his surprise, his younger brother was walking in his direction on the opposite side of the street. Judging by his quick pace, he'd been searching the streets as long as Ed had been asleep. With a small smile he stuffed one hand into his pocket and called to his brother while waving the other, "Hey! Alphonse!"

The armored figure jumped, "Ed! _There_ you are!" without hesitation, Al ran straight through the road.

"Yeah," Ed began, once his brother reached his side, "sorry I worried you."

"Worried, I was scared half to death! What on earth were you _doing_ all night?!"

Ed couldn't lie to his brother; lying, unless required in certain cases, was something he couldn't tolerate or practice. But how should he explain exactly how he felt about Riza? Not to mention, he would have to explain what had transpired between them.

Right now, he decided, was not the best time to reveal that information. "We'd better hurry. The train's gonna leave without us. I'll tell ya there, alright?"

"I'm holding you to that explanation, brother!" Alphonse crossed his arms, pouting in manner rather than expression.

"Got it. Now come on, let's get going," Ed grinned, stuffing his other hand into his pocket before taking a step in the direction of the train station. Heavy metallic steps soon fell in behind him and the pair began their march to the station.

For a while they walked in silence, keeping up a steady pace. Alphonse kept his glowing red orbs focused on his older brother; while in opposition, Ed's eyes were everywhere _but_ on his younger brother beside him. No matter what he did, his mind kept slipping back into bed; back beneath blankets so inviting that it seemed even the steel he bore was warm underneath them.

His senses, as well as his wits, were recalling his night in the apartment; in front of his eyes was the uniform hanging messily over the back of a chair. At his fingertips, the silken texture of her skin as he ran his hand up and down her back. There was, however, one other, more obscure observation: the beautiful and mysterious aura of flowers in a battlefield.

From the moment the smell had twisted up through his nostrils, he'd been curious about it. Most of his interest had been, and was still, directed to the species of the bloom growing in ammunition. Generally, he would see this kind of information trivial. In fact the only reason for his longing was because of the woman to whom the perfume belonged.

He took in a deep breath, preparing to let it out in a sigh, but froze before he could exhale. "That's it!" he exclaimed softly.

"Hm? What was that?" Al asked, nearly screeching with his brother's sudden stop.

But Ed didn't hear him, for his head was searching frantically the surrounding sidewalk for the source of the officious redolence. With another deep breath and a turn of his head, he locked onto his target.

To their right and up a little ways was a small stand. Various pots and hanging baskets carried flowers of all colors and shapes. They were close enough to it that a female shopkeeper could be seen carrying the blossom that had so eluded Edward.

"I'll be right back!" Ed shouted over his shoulder, having already begun jogging towards the stand.

"Weren't _you_ the one so insistent on hurrying?" Alphonse slumped his metal shoulders in exasperation.

"It'll just be a second!" he assured him, before turning to face the stand.

The owner wore a bright yellow dress to match the sunflowers for sale, and her smile was as cheerful as the color would suggest, "How may I help you, sir?"

"A dozen of those, please," he smiled and gestured with a wave of his hand to a flower pot; wherein twelve, flawless daisies turned their faces to the east. Beads of water splashed with sunrise glistened against the creamy white petals, and when the woman lifted the flowers from the pot, those same small drops slid across the leaves; leaving multicolored streaks against the deep green foliage.

While she set up his order-long, brown curls bouncing with her movement-Edward took a small notepad from his pocket and tore a sheet from its binding.

It was simple, spontaneous idea; one that sent a tinge of cerise into his features. "Um, excuse me, Ma'm? Do you make deliveries?" he said as he folded the paper twice and finished with a name on the front.

"_Delivery_, huh? These for a special someone?" she snickered.

"W-well, uh, yeah, I-I guess you could say that," he stuttered, placing the note abashedly on the table.

The woman just giggled again and tied the note around the prepared bouquet with a brilliant blue ribbon.

They finished their transaction quickly; he giving her money and an address, and she her word of the daisies safe conveyance. Not five minutes had passed when Edward bid the woman a grateful farewell and trotted back over to his brother.

Alphonse was silent when he returned, looking at Edward as if with a raised eyebrow.

"What is it?" Ed inquired innocently while beginning to move in the station's direction once more.

"What do you mean "what is it"? Since when did you just randomly decide to get flowers?"

"Since just now," he shrugged.

"Away all night without warning, buying flowers, and not to mention how-" he stopped short.

Ed swallowed hard, feeling Al's smirking orbs upon him.

"Brother," he said in disbelief, "you mean you're in…"

"On the train, Al."

"That's where you were all night, and who the flowers are for, right?"

"O-on the train, Al."

"Who is it?!"

Ed started to laugh and increased his speed to a run, "On the train, Al!"

Alphonse found nothing funny when he ran after him, "Tell me, Ed! Come on!"

"_On the train, Al!"_

Even with such a serious conversation fast approaching, it was hard to feel apprehensive; unease was impossible when thoughts of his soldier receiving his gift were filling his head. And besides, something was telling him that Alphonse had already guessed exactly why he'd been so late. So then, maybe, it would be easier then expected anyway.

Al called out another plea for information behind him and Ed could only laugh harder. "In time, Al," he replied as the station came into view, "in time."

Riza turned to face the inside of the apartment; her back now pressed against the locked door. The dam of her eyelids broke and twin tears dripped off her cheeks onto the light-blue fabric of her sleep shirt.

She hadn't felt the sting of tears in a long, long while, and she absolutely hated it. Why should she be crying? Right now, everyone was alive and she _knew_ he was strong enough to keep it that way. Yet she was still gazing at the wall as more droplets formed on her eyelashes.

A low jingling sounded from under the bed. Immediately following the noise, a whiskered snout popped out from the shadows and soon the form of a canine emerged, padding his way tentatively to his master. It's been said that animals can sense it when their humans are distressed. This was proven so, for the disconsolate vibrations emanating from his master drooped his ears and raised a whimper. With a sympathetic tongue, Hayate began to gently lick her fingers; his nose sniffing curiously at the still present scent of unfamiliar breath.

Riza chuckled and looked down at the pup by her side. Smiling despite the rivers flowing soundlessly down her face, she slid to the floor and brought her knees up; shifting the now-wettish hand to the top of his head.

The compassionate canine wagged his tail deftly back and forth; making as if to smile back with another slip of his tongue.

"Hey," she muttered, closing her eyes and wiping both liquids from her cheek as she stroked Hayate's ebony fur.

The instant his footsteps had ceased, a thousand things entered her head; a thousand things she had wanted to tell him, but just couldn't seem to find the words. Many of them were almost trivial in their simplicity; above all, she just wanted to tell him she loved him and hear him say he loved her too.

These thoughts just made her feel even more pathetic. Of all that she could be doing, wallowing in her own misery was not high on the list. The soldier inside screamed at her to get up, move, and do something with herself; while the captivated human woman wanted nothing more than to find the man she loved. Each of these desires clashed, and created in their aftermath the downcast gunwoman; numb to all movement with warm streams rolling off her cheeks.

Even the particles floating in the sunlight jumped at the sound of her preset alarm clock. Her closed eyes shot open and adrenaline exploded within her resting body, while a bark issued from Hayate's exposed teeth.

"It's ok," she said, tapping his head when she stood up, "just the clock."

It was a loud, annoying signal that used a high-pitched ringing as a means of awakening its owner. Needless to say, she preferred her earlier wakeup call.

She sighed quietly and stretched, pulling movement back into her muscles, then strode over to the chair; slipping off her pajamas on the way and tossing them to her bed.

At this time yesterday, she'd been looking forward to arriving at HQ more than she ever had before; for as soon as she walked up the steps, the doors would swing open for her to see a certain alchemist with a courteous demeanor and a welcoming smile. But there would be no handsome alchemist holding doors today and there wouldn't be for a long while.

After a while of getting ready, however, Riza's emotions went safely back in check. With her uniform came a duty; a duty which could not be accomplished as long as she allowed dysphoria and thoughts of what she lacked to control her mind. He was in the place where he was most needed and she in hers. And as long as that held true, she would continue to do what she had done before the previous evening: support him from the sidelines by giving what aid she could, and providing someplace warm to sleep when his footsteps again echoed throughout the Central streets.

The morning routine went quicker than usual because of the steady composition of her mind. Hayate's bowl was emptied in record time and before she knew it, she was twisting the last strands of her bangs into place.

"Here," she said, all traces of her past weakness gone.

Obediently, Hayate found his way quickly to his master's side, and they both exited the apartment. She barely heard the click of the door when it locked for the last time behind her.

When a yawn was safely stifled, and Hayate was in his place in front of the building, she opened the headquarter doors; face austere and determined. Various lower ranking officers bid her a good day, which he waved off with a quiet, "As you were," before finally reaching the door to the office.

The eyes of her coworkers instantly began to scrutinize her somber form when the door opened.

"Good morning," she saluted the group quietly and then took her place at the table. As far as she could tell, no one knew what had happened between Edward and her; it appeared her clean up job was a success.

"Good morning Lieutenant," said five voices at once; three sounded confused about the disappearance of her smile from the previous afternoon, while the other two were oblivious to the fact it had been there in the first place.

This was how her days had always began without him, and how they would continue to begin until who knows when. No doubt the only thing that would change the routine until his return was the questioning she was bound to receive for her blank report yesterday.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye?" asked the Colonel without looking up from his desk.

Here it was. "Sir?" Riza rose without looking at her addresser.

"A young woman came by this morning; said she had a delivery for you."

"Delivery? What of?"

Colonel Mustang set down his pen and reached down to a spot hidden from view by his desk. Riza gave him a disconcerted look when she reached the table's front, but her confusion faded into shock at what Roy's grinning face had to show her.

He held in his gloved hand the most beautiful bouquet of daisies to ever grace her eyes. Their petals were just as beautiful and pure as if they'd never touched the hard, headquarters floor. She took them slowly, with aporetic fingers.

"She didn't give us a name," he said, answering just one of her questions. "Apparently they wanted to be anonymous."

"Thank you, sir," she mumbled to the blossoms. It was when she began to trace the ribbon binding the stems that she found the note addressed to Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. Using her thumb, she lifted the top fold up to read what was written within.

What met her gaze then nearly dampened her eyes all over again.

Inside was a simple message; the script itself more complex then the words it illustrated. It was the most beautiful writing she'd ever seen; elegance increased with the signature at the bottom:

Riza-

I'll be back before the last petal falls

Love, Edward

"…Lieutenant?"

She hadn't moved since she'd opened the note, and had been reading it over and over; memorizing the words as well as the exquisite calligraphy. "Sorry, sir," she replied vaguely.

"So," Roy began, in a curious yet indifferent tone, "who're they from?"

A warm smile broke out across her cheeks and she clutched the daisy stems tighter. She lifted her head and looked her commanding officer straight in the eye, tears unknowingly forming in her own, "In time, sir, in time."


	3. Reflected in Amber: Prologue

Reflected in Amber-Prologue

Deafening silence filling an oblivion of blinding white, in which Edward Elric stood alone. Before him loomed the only obstruction of nothingness besides himself, floating without support in numb, stagnant air: The familiar pair of disembodied doors, the entrance to hell, The Gate. For now the Gate was closed, the thousands of eyes and expanses of knowledge hidden by their master's order.

Despite the vastness of the pearly landscape, his quick breathing did not reverberate, and neither did his heavy footfalls as he stepped closer to the black Gate. He reached out a hand, not fully intending to touch the obsidian entryway, and then clenched it into a fist. He'd been here more times previously than he cared to remember, and his usual company was late.

"Where are you!?" Edward roared, turning his back momentarily to the doors.

The responding voice was amused, sounding in a chilling whisper from bodiless lips, "So we meet again, young alchemist. And so soon."

"You know what I came for," he growled, golden eyes aflame as they returned to the Gate.

"Yes. You seem to arrive here a lot when that soul is concerned." A body, formed with thin fog, appeared not far from where Edward stood; the only solid aspect was the malicious grin across his smoky visage. This, too, was a constant presence, and he knew him only by name of the contents of what lay behind the doors he held the key to:

The Truth.

"But what will you give up this time? Perhaps those fresh limbs of yours?"

Though the ghostly body had no eyes, Edward had the eerie sensation of being looked over: The invisible eyes started first at the rune in the middle of his forehead, then traveled down to the matching symbol in the center of his chest, and after evaluating all four befleshed limbs, met his steely gaze.

"So often do you come that I could almost call you my friend," Truth laughed at the final word. "I should say your permanent residence here would indeed be quite…interesting."

Edward flinched, but said nothing.

"It seems you do not want this?"

"You _know_ what I want!" he shouted, taking a step forward. "If you won't open this damn thing and give me back my brother then I'll open it myself!"

"Anxious as always," as he spoke, there came a sudden chill to the atmosphere. Behind him, the doors to hell creaked open, revealing an eye almost as big as the doorway itself staring out from within the darkness. Immediately following, a million new eyes flashed open, piercing his very essence with scores of amethyst knives.

Edward stared back up at them, fighting the tremors shaking every part of his body. True, he'd come here before: Twice on a stormy night six years ago, then again but a few hours ago when he'd been forced through and back, and the last time before this he'd arrived on what might have been his final moments before death. Each time Truth had opened The Gate, and each time he saw those terrible, faceless, eyes staring down at him, but no matter how many times he stood in the emptiness, and no matter how many times he gazed into those terrible eyes, he could never ready himself for it.

And thus, as always, he was fighting screams when it happened.

Arms as thin as paper, but strong as steel in their numbers, shot from within the Gate. They wrapped themselves around him like vices, before tugging his shaking body inside the door to join them. Just as the heavy doors slammed, there came a flash of brightest yellow, and all that he could see was shining like an ominous sun.

The arms held fast as they traveled deeper into the yellow tunnel, pressing his ribs against a pounding heart. All around him flashed infinite lights of that single blinding gold, flawed only by the occasional whip of black that had no part of him to grasp. His bound arms tugged desperately against the fetters, tiny fingers dug into his scalp when he fought to turn his head from its forced-forward position, and all the while he shouted a single name as loud as his compressed lungs would allow.

"Alphonse!"

After what felt like hours in the endless void, there finally came a light shining brighter than the already blazing illumination. What little breath remained left his lungs as the light gained shape, and then depth. Only when the figure turned, bronze hair flowing over wide, copper eyes did one of his exhausted arms break free of Truth's shackles.

Edward stretched forward as far as the restraints would allow, craning his fingers and his back towards the figure until the hands grasped only his braid, "Alphonse! Take my hand!"

The figure of his brother ran in slow-motion towards him, tears pooling in his eyes despite the smile of drastic euphoria on his pale cheeks.

A smile spread over his face, too, without his consent; a simper that seemed crazed in its relief. Just seeing his younger brother smiling, physically smiling, was enough to drown out every light and sound around him. It wouldn't be a portion of him he received this time: No, he would be finally getting him back, smile and all. Knowing this gave him enough might to pull away from the last of the arms and move forward to his full extent; having this knowledge was enough to close that final gap between them, and allow their hands to clasp together.

But the instant contact was made, all the brilliance of the tunnel faded with a single booming slam of the closing Gate.

Edward fell to his knees, the force and speed of his release back into oblivion catching him off guard. The smile faded as his skin familiarized itself to the solid alabaster limbo.

Trembling fingers traveled over his damp body as he rose shakily to his feet, in an attempt to confirm his existence, "Insides are intact. Both arms...legs…Whole face is here and-" But he couldn't finish his sentence, for his entire body froze at what his hand found atop his head.

A tiny hand belonging to a pitch-black infant tightened around his finger as it stared down at him with joyful, evil, violet eyes.

"Almost forgot the Law, did you?" Truth did not reveal himself, but smirked noxiously in tone.

His heart thundered in his chest, instincts were screaming at him to remove the devil from his head, run, shout, do anything! But the admission to himself of the temporarily disregarded inevitable wouldn't allow him any movement except the beating of his heart and the motion of his lungs. Immobilized by shock, his shrinking pupils stared upwards, seeing only the silhouette of the demonic child against a callous backdrop of purest white. Powerless against the whims of the Truth, he could only continue to gape when the baby dropped his finger, and then pressed a single ebon palm to his head. The hand briefly stroked his scalp, as if examining its perch, and then, with the force of a thousand of its brothers, the newborn hand plunged into his skull.

Edward's shriek did not echo as fingers sharp as spikes probed his subconscious. His hands flew to the sides of his head, covering his ears as if to block out the sounds of his own agony, as he fell to his knees beneath the weight of the young messenger of hell. Blood spilt by his fingernails clutching his head began to trickle down his wrists, but those wounds gave him no discomfort, for all pain was overshadowed by that raging with the sustained invasion of his mind. White spots, small at first, flashed into a single light behind his eyelids, his entire body began to slacken, but he couldn't think himself dying just yet, for his screams hadn't lowered in strength or volume, and his heart was still throbbing furiously in his chest.

Tears brought to his squeezed-shut eyes by reflex dripped onto his cheeks, as the probing spikes finally stopped. The fingers of the grinning demon clutched its quarry like a trap around the leg of a beast. Grinning ever-wider, it began to retreat, with its prize firmly grasped.

The fiend held in its hand what appeared to be a thick rope. Making it up were thousands of individual silver threads, all entwined and glistening like the moisture falling to his chin. Scattered about the lustrous weave were spots of pitch-black, fiery-red, and softest-pink: The black swirled like a whirlpool into an equally caliginous center, the red squirmed in anguish amongst the dazzling fibers, and the pink, to contrast all others, bubbled gently as if heated beneath by an infinite source of warmth. Further and further the rope was pulled from its home, bringing to its owner with its escape the malaise of salient claws digging endless canyons into his mentality. And the claws stopped only when there was but a fraction of the cable still connected to its possessor.

With movement ceased, he was able to slowly open his watering eyes, loosen the grip on his head, and take in breaths to replace those lost to his lasting outcry. "Wh-…?Wha-…?" Another jolt shot from his head, silencing him once more.

The Truth showed himself then, crouching before the confused alchemist with a smirk that was unchanged by the recent events. But he spoke not a word, only moved a single finger. Following the orders of its master, the child, still clutching the fantastic sullied rope leaped from his perch and floated just before his face.

Edward blinked at the strand before him, finding no explanation for his pain. But the longer he looked at it, the more the glittering of silver began to resemble movement: At the beginning of the lariat, residing within silver, he saw a smiling face turn to him as he raced its owner uphill towards their house, in the first black spot he saw a single hand holding two smaller ones fall still, and within the red he saw his own blood falling from the gaping hole that had once been his arm. And then it hit him, faster than the heavy fist he saw in red hit his cheek.

"A complete body and soul is quite expensive," Truth explained with a grin. "I'm afraid physical possessions won't cover it."

What remained of his mind began to swim, what air he had managed to breathe in came out in a single haggard breath, while his vision began to blur with his fleeting consciousness. Still he watched as the experiences of his life, known as such to him now only because of that single inch of connection, played out before him.

Yet he couldn't bring himself to feel saddened by this impending loss. He'd known from the moment he clapped his hands that the granting of his wish would come at a price, but it hadn't occurred to him that mental possessions were as much at risk as physical. Seeing some of his most precious recollections about to be torn from his very mind, tragic a forfeiture as it was, only brought to his remaining thoughts a feeling of regret; not for his choice, but for the consequences.

"I'm sorry," he barely managed to whisper to the multicolored faces; their expressions didn't change with his words though, they just kept smiling or crying the way he'd seen them in the past. "I'm sor-"

"_Don't…Please."_

His vision instantly snapped to clarity; as clear as the soft voice had come to his ears.

"_You have nothing to apologize for."_

In a daze he found the brightest spot of pink along the rope, sparkling and bubbling with perpetual affection. Her eyes stared back into his, perched above a warm smile; he could almost feel the slender finger slipping from his lips.

"Riza…"

"_I'll always be here for you, Edward."_

Edward swallowed hard, his entire body slowly falling towards unconsciousness. "I'm sorry, Riza. I-I…"

The vision shifted to a moonlit hospital room.

"_It's alright. I understand."_

Darkness began to envelope his vision as the last echo of her soft voice in his ear faded into silence. No! No, not yet! He couldn't say goodbye, not to her! Alphonse would live, this sacrifice was proof, and, after their meeting in the Gate, had at least some possibility of knowing his welfare. But Alphonse's knowledge was but a possibility, and as it seemed he'd been directly transported out of the Gate without a stop-over in this emptiness, he would most likely return as confused as Edward himself.  
So who would tell her about this night? Who would relay an assurance of his safety when he could not? How would he keep his promise with the knowledge lost perpetually to an entity who cared nothing for it or the woman to whom it was given?

These new questions spilled like teardrops into the luminescent rope, adding themselves to its length as a last testament to the life he knew, and a harbinger of its ending. He vaguely saw The Truth grin in his peripheral vision, vaguely felt the claws as the fiend pulled out these new thoughts, barely saw the same demon clasp his memories tightly in preparation to remove them forever.

"I love you."

"_I love you, too."_

And as the thread was snapped, everything he'd known disappeared, left as payment for a face he couldn't recognize, in translucent hands that held knowledge of a love that he, himself, could never again call his own.


	4. Reflected in Amber

**Reflected in Amber**

**The Bittersweet Shadow of Reunion**

Outside the window of the speeding train, Riza watched the countryside play out in various multicolored blurs. White-walled houses melted in with the green of the trees and the blue of the lakes they surrounded, while hints of shadows tinted the ground below the sun hanging in the cloud-spotted sea of turquoise. Completely still on the horizon were the shapes of multiple buildings, each one becoming more and more distinguished with each passing minute. A haphazard crossing sign said that they need only travel forty more miles before reaching East City-the name given to the bunch of buildings. Most of the passengers would leave in the next forty miles, but she would not be with them; the next was merely an optional exit. More specifically, a place for those not bound for the end of the line to transfer. Those transferring would be out in the sunshine long before she, free to stretch the four-hour ride from their muscles and soak up the warmth lighting a rare day: The day on which she traveled away from home. 

Riza had gotten out of Central just a few times, when under orders, and that attribute could be applied to this particular excursion as well. However, there were four prominent differences about her trip today than there had been before: One was the attire in which she would be performing her duties, another was the difficulty she'd had in accepting her commander's words, third was a foreign lenience, for only her exit, rather than both departure and purpose, was ordained. The fourth difference, though, was the most disconcerting of all of them:

Never before had she received such looks of pity upon her leaving, especially not from the man whom issued the orders.

Riza'd had a hunch about her commander's scheme when one requirement was to wear anything other than military garb, but those looks affirmed her suspicions. It seemed that those closest to her in Central, like many others, expected that her getting out of the familiar city would bring about change for, what they deemed, 'the better.'

"Time away won't change much, Sir," she murmured to the window, but when neither he nor the glass answered, she let her argument fall in a sigh off her lips. Her fingers brushed the glass reflection of the fast-approaching city, and began to trace aimless images in the condensation from her breath.

"Excuse me? Is this seat taken?"

Riza jumped in her seat, startled by the quiet voice interrupting the dull hum of the moving train. Towering above her were a pair of gentle brown eyes, accented by wrinkles and a thick beard. Strands of a light-gray were sewn in with the rest of his tawny locks, which were too short to even brush the neck of the tan coat that extended just below his ankles. One tenuous hand was gesturing to the seat across from her.

"Go ahead," she smiled politely.

The man paused briefly when their eyes met; his eyes glazed, cleared, and lit-up with a smile so quickly that she didn't have time to fully realize what had occurred. And by the time he thanked her, she'd decided she was either excessively observant, sleepy, or a combination of the two.

He said nothing while settling himself down, long coat swaying above the dusty floor of the car. A few curious eyes looked over the anomaly, taking-in his unseasonable clothing, coarse hair, and large suitcase. The fact that he still wore the coat indoors was strange on its own, and his awkwardness was only heightened when he placed the trunk below his feet rather than on the shelf.

The man procured a newspaper from one of his large pockets and began to scan its pages, paying no attention to the investigation being conducted on him. Even Riza found herself staring, but her eyes were looking at the bolded newsprint headline instead of the man reading it.

"They're finally making progress in Liore," she noted the subject of a story she hadn't in ages.

His face appeared, smiling, above the paper. "About time if you ask me. But I suppose it couldn't be helped."

Riza agreed, "Yes, it must be difficult to get adequate manpower that far into the desert."

He nodded, "Apparently they're giving the State Alchemists jobs as construction workers out there now."

"Good strategy." Though her tone was casual, inside she was shocked. Not by the State's choice of labor, but by the fact that she hadn't had the slightest idea of their decision. This wasn't news to only her, however, but working in the military she was sure to have heard something beforehand-especially when she was so close to two State Alchemists.

"I'm actually headed out there myself," he lowered his paper, "I'm hoping I'll be able to aid in the reconstruction."

A new feeling of interest leaned Riza forward in her seat, "You're an alchemist?"

"Have been for a few years now. Nowhere near state material, though. I figure I could do a bit more out there than just fix odds and ends like I do at home. Plus it gives me an opportunity to visit my sister; haven't seen her in a _long_ while. So I'll at least have a bit of company if I can't do any work."

"I-" she chose her words carefully, "wouldn't worry any about that. The way things are going now, I've no doubt they'll accept any help they can get." Giving assurance based on the character of the military's most prominent branch in Liore's reconstruction would be all any intelligent person needed to guess her occupation, and this man, being an alchemist, had more than enough coruscation. He seemed nice enough, and the military's reputation was improving by the day, but she decided against alerting him of the uniform that normally replaced the gray suit and skirt ensemble she wore now.

"I'll hold you to that!" he grinned and stretched out a hand. "By the way you can call me Alec, Miss…?"

"Hawkeye," Riza clasped his fingers to shake a hand that seemed much too small when compared to the huge sleeve surrounding it. "Riza is just fine."

Again, his eyes fogged and refined in a blink of her own.

"It's a pleasure!" Alec said. There was a brief silence where he adjusted the trunk that served as a foot-rest for his black, scuffed boots. Legs, clad in pants to match the shoes, flashed from beneath his coat. Riza couldn't help but notice that, like his hands, they clashed in size when compared to the broad clothing around them.

"How about you Miss Hawkeye?" Alec asked, forcing her eyes away from his limbs. "What brings you to the 8:15 departing from Central?"

"Just…taking a trip. And, please, there's no need for formality."

"On your way to Liore?"

Riza shook her head, "Actually I'm headed towards Xenotime."

A chuckle like bubbling milk-chocolate blew across Alec's beard, "That's a pretty fair distance to travel from Central."

"Yes, well, it's about the only place that holds any interest for me at the moment."

"Do you have family out in Xenotime?"

"No. Just…extra time."

When Alec next opened his mouth, she was expecting another question, and that brought the caustic bubble of unease to the top of her mind. There had been instilled within her a dislike for questions: With questions came shifts in conversation, and she knew all too well the subject reached sooner or later during conversations in which she was concerned.

But Alec just let out another sweet laugh, "I hope you spend your time well, then, Riza."

Riza, who had looked away in preparation for his inquiry, didn't look back at him with her own accord. His own eyes sought out hers, and pulled them without touch upwards to be fixed in a gaze while he spoke.

Clouds traveled across his eyes, obscuring her reflection, but this time didn't disperse.

Something like a memory began to stir beneath the calm seas of her mind, narrowing her eyes with its motion. There was no image from the past to make it a full recollection, yet the odd sense of familiarity she felt wouldn't allow it be bound to the present alone. It was his eyes, and their so deeply meeting hers, that brought it on: There wasn't much in them she could use to make sense of what was happening, only the inexplicable feeling of having been looked upon by them many times.

"Alec," she began slowly, speaking almost subconsciously, "you seem…familiar…"

Her voice was lighting to part the clouds; Alec flinched as though the jolt was more than metaphorical.

"I'm sorry about that, Lieutenant," he grinned, scratching sheepishly at his beard. "I've been told more than once that I have a bad habit of spacing out in the middle of a conversation."

Riza gasped, shocked by her own personal lightning, "How did you-!"

"Now arriving at East City!" the conductor's voice boomed through the train's opening doors.

The murmur of separate conversations rose like the passengers, bringing the rest of the world speeding back to her attention. She whirled around to see the buildings that had once been specks along the skyline now made up all she could see out the fogging window. 

Despite his bulky clothes and baggage, Alec moved quickly. He had already risen from his seat and was standing next to hers when Riza turned from the window. "This is my stop, Miss Hawkeye," he slid the unread paper back into his pocket.

"But how-!"

A course of moving bodies poured itself between them, pushing each other towards the opposite shores of platform and interior. They each moved with the flow of traffic, Alec's size easily parting the crowd while Riza was left fighting as an average civilian against the throng, until the small space between them from Alec's slight head-start grew to a point where she could barely see his head. After much struggling and murmured apologies, Riza paused just beyond the threshold.

"Wait!"

Her eyes scanned the station floor, finding many late commuters, reuniting spouses, and a few laughing children, none of them looking up at her outcry. Even after multiple look-overs, coupled with the occasional shouting of his name, she was unable to find a trace of the large suitcase or beige coat. As quickly as he'd appeared, he'd vanished, leaving only his mysterious knowledge behind.

Confused and crestfallen, Riza stepped back into the train.

"A trench coat this time of year?" she heard a woman mutter.

"I don't think I've _ever_ seen someone so _tall_!" replied another.

"You don't think he could've been some sort of criminal, do you!"

"No." This time it was Riza who spoke, voice loud enough for her alone to hear, taking her seat as the train huffed back to life. Indeed Alec was peculiar, or at least the most interesting person she'd met in a long time, but she couldn't think that irregularity a sign of evil. There was one thing about him that solidified the strange-but-virtuous image of him she'd obtained; one seemingly trivial thing that she just couldn't shake.

"That kindness in his eyes…It was so genuine. And so…familiar…Not to mention he knew my rank. Even if he'd guessed that I'm in the military, there's no way he could guess so specifically…

"Just who was he, anyway?" Riza asked the window. But again, it gave no reply.

* * *

Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye:

Our records show you have accumulated a great amount of vacation hours. In-lieu of this situation, you are being sent on a mandatory vacation. As this gives you no specific duties, it is requested you refrain from wearing your uniform while residing in the location of your choosing. All hours will be cleared with seven days off the premise of Central Headquarters.

Roy Mustang

General Roy Mustang

"Damn trains," Riza grumbled, cracking her back as she stood on the platform of Xenotime's makeshift train station. Slung across her chest was a small black bag, used to hold the miscellaneous books and reports she'd brought to stave off potential boredom, as well as the letter she'd been reading just a moment ago. It wasn't until she'd gone to retrieve the purse, about six hours after Alec's exit, that she noticed her name and rank exposed just above the opening; she also had forgotten its being placed next to her on the seat, at least for the time during and after her conversation with the alchemist. Seeing it now, she felt rather foolish for having been so alarmed by a few of Alec's final statements, but took some solace in the explanation.

'_Although, that still doesn't explain why I feel like I've seen him,_' she conceded silently.

Again she ran over all she knew about him: That he was a tall alchemist named Alec with hints of gray in his short brown hair and arms and legs too small for his clothes; that he had a sister living in Liore; that his eyes were a dark bronze, and brimming with compassion that she could almost swear she'd seen before-compassion that also manifested itself in his laughter. But when she compared that description to her memories, she found no match.

'_Maybe I'm finally losing it_,' Riza heaved a sigh into the evening air. Deciding it best for her sanity to put the alchemist out of her mind, she grabbed the handle of her black suitcase and made her way down the platform's incline leading to a small dirt path. At the end of the deserted trail, a mass of trees and buildings was her destination: Xenotime's western entrance.

Accompanying her solitude was an abnormal silence: Though the wind was blowing through many trees and a seemingly-endless field, there wasn't even a rustle; in fact, the noisiest thing was her own feet, kicking up dirt with the quiet shuffling of her soles. Suspended in the azure sky, clouds like pipe smoke dotted the far-east horizon, painted gold and speckled pink with the sun just beginning to set; behind her, where the actual orb could be seen, long shadows were already turning the station and surrounding foliage to darkening silhouettes. Riza had seen countless sunsets, but the total quiet wasn't something she could boast experience with, for, in Central, there was always some-sort of noise at even the darkest hours of the night, let alone early evening. It was soothing now, like a patch of much-needed shade on a hot summer's day, to hear nothing but her feet and quiet breath. If only for a short walk, she felt calm both within and around her.

Save for a light scratching sound, the silence remained unbroken when she entered the branch-framed entrance to Xenotime. Head turning in the noise's direction, she found a metal bucket grazing the corner of a wooden beam that held up an eight-plank roof above a small stone well; no doubt one of many scattered about the town, built to take advantage of the water source that had brought the first citizens to this part of the vast countryside. Her first thought was that it seemed a rather strange spot, considering the fact that the houses once needing the water-source were further down the path, but as her eyes looked straight ahead, she caught sight of a structure in her peripheral vision that gave some explanation.

Parallel to the well was a small house with off-white walls, the door being the only obstruction with its brown frame and gray screen. Leading almost right up to the door, stopped by the edge of a ground-level deck that both supported the roof and matched what it covered, was a foot-formed path in the grass; following it with her eyes, she found it connected to the main trail by means of a gap in a stone wall, homemade by the look of it, that extended from the trees behind to the farthest edge of the house, where it curved away from the path and out of sight.

Riza continued forward, brushing the top of the wall with her fingertips, eventually reaching the corner. Not far from the side of the house was a shed, as crudely built as the wall. Judging by the unpainted and splintered sides and roof, it most-likely held an array of farming tools. A timely gust of wind then blew across her cheek, rustling some new object not far from the shed, and her eyes, on instinct, shifted towards the movement.

The motion had come from one of the fruit trees grown in Xenotime's colossal orchard. Now that she faced it completely, she could see the zigzagging tunnel's created by spaces between each trunk, as well as the trembling green perched aloft, creating shelter for the grass below with thin branches and emerald foliage. Here and there specks of orange and yellow could be seen, flashing in and out of view with the swaying verdure. The orange spots she identified as the fruit named after the color, and the yellow spots were, seeing as only one bright-yellow fruit hung from branches, most assuredly-

_An abrupt rustle of the tent's flap of an opening drove her eyes upward. He'd come again into the tent, but, as there was no one behind or beside him, this time had come alone of his own accord. As the shelter was built wider than it was long, his entrance brought him just a few steps away from the desk where she sat. _

"_Edward?" Riza asked slowly, not failing to notice his pink cheeks. "Is something wrong?"_

_Silent, the alchemist strode across the tent floor, reaching the desk in few steps and even less time. He then came to a stop just before the edge of the tabletop, and fidgeted with the sleeves of his jacket. Before the desk's inhabitant could question again, having time only to rise with concern, open-mouthed, from her chair, he placed two gloved hands on her instantly-flushing cheeks and pulled her to him._

_Even as their lips met, he didn't move his hands; even as her eyes shot open, she made no effort to move them herself. They were both familiarly dissimilar, like two sides of a single pillow: The silk on her right cheek was warm, while that on her left cooled her burning skin. She couldn't stop herself from remembering how the fingers filling the gloves, steel and flesh alike, had felt: Cold digits combing through sweat-tangled hair, trembling fingers moving from cheek to shoulder, before moving to feel the direct source of her pulse throbbing in her chest; both of them caressing every curve of her body, knowing every bead of sweat, every pound of her heart, every gasp of her breath. But other than the hands, she knew even better the feel of his lips; the slow, deliberate way his kiss would be upon her, as if speed might diminish the pleasure both given and received._

_This kiss was not the same as in the past, as on that night and other more secretive moments shared once in a blue moon. His lips were too quick, tongue too forceful as it met hers upon request, and she could sense the slight tremors reverberating from the silk atop her cheeks were not excited, but restless. It seemed as if he knew of her understanding, and behind the movement of his lips was pleading she ignore it…at least for a moment._

_So she did not pull away, did not fight her closing eyes, but did not allow herself to be completely taken by desire. Finally, after an unknown amount of time had passed, he slowed his rushed pace, and once again he was embracing her lips and stroking her tongue. Had it not been for that inescapable tension she felt, it would've been enough to send her reeling. Eventually the speed slowed to a stop, and they paused, breathing quietly and gratefully, eyes still closed and silk still holding cheek._

_"I won't be sending you letters for a while," he whispered. "Al and I will be too far out in the desert."_

_"You know I understand," Riza replied, though his tangible unease said there were other, more- pressing reasons why he couldn't risk contact with her; reasons that he wouldn't say, even if she asked the questions she had._

_He opened his eyes slowly, taking a quick glance over his shoulder, then looked back to see her eyes open as well. As they found each-other's gaze, he gave her a small smile._

_"I say that because I meant to tell you something a few letters ago. It's no big deal but…If you ever get some extra time, I highly suggest a trip to Xenotime. The scenery's not too bad, and the inn keeper makes the best lemon pie you'll ever taste."_

_Riza blinked, then smiled in return, "You needn't have gone through the trouble of telling me this now. I know you're in a hurry."_

_"Maybe not," Edward admitted. "But…It's not every day I get a chance to…see you, you know?" he looked severely embarrassed, his eyes glancing down flushed cheeks to stare at the tarp-covered sand below his boots._

_"Just…see me?" Riza asked in an alluring whisper, tilting his head up as she spoke. "It seems to me that __**sight**__ was the last of the senses on your mind."_

_"Uh…" Edward gulped, blood filling every inch of skin above his neck. "We-well…"_

_To that, Riza responded with a chuckle, and gave him a single, spine-tingling wink. But as the faint shadow of a moving body tainted the pure light streaming through the small tent flap, her mood swiftly changed; Edward, having heard a sandy footstep to accompany the shadow, wasn't surprised at their mutual mood swing._

_"I'll only have time for a vacation when you and Alphonse do as well," Riza began, reluctantly taking his hands from her cheeks. "And when that time comes, I won't be the only one boarding a train to Xenotime."_

_The shadow grew darker; the footsteps closer._

_With as much speed as their hesitant hearts would allow, they freed the space above the tabletop. Edward glanced toward the sunlight, Riza beginning to take her seat, but just before she could fully ensconce, a gentle hand took hold of her chin._

_"I'll go out there with you someday soon," he promised with a smile, conviction burning so hot in his eyes they shimmered like liquid-gold. "If only to share something sweet with someone sweeter."_

_He kissed her once, keeping ahold of her chin for its duration, then eased his fingers down to his sides. Riza watched the muscles in his back flex against his black jacket until the sunlight swallowed him, heard the sigh of his boots when their weight hit the sand, and then it was silent, leaving her alone and softly blushing in the shade._

_She didn't deny the smile that began to take over her countenance, even knowing that allowing it come would mean questions when Lieutenant Breada returned. There seemed nothing at that moment that could take it away; not their separation, not their imminent pause in communication, not even the danger she knew full-well each of them were facing. The first explanation for her mirth was the lingering warmth on both her lips and chin, the other was the scent still present in the air-the smell of sweat and metal with the slightest hint of cologne. But it soon became obvious, as she greeted the Lieutenant upon his entry, that her thoughts were taking joy in the future rather than the recent past; a future that promised a long train ride, leading to a destination filled with pleasant views, even better company, and desserts made only from the freshest and sweetest- _

-lemons.

For an eternity, it seemed, she stood at the corner of the wall, hardly breathing, not moving, staring at the dancing leaves without hearing them as they danced a muted ballet. She heard only his voice, softly conveying a promise on warm, fragrant breath, for her mind would allow no other sounds to pass. This time was the first in nearly two years that her mind had been so completely taken, and she wasn't sure exactly how it made her feel.

Perhaps she was feeling happy, the sheer power of just the thought of his kiss, of his touch, of his voice reaching her ear, being enough to offset her melancholy, or perhaps she was feeling disappointed, thinking of promises seemingly forgotten. But then, perhaps those same promises brought hope with their incomplete status, hope that he had indeed survived whatever wrong he'd left to right on that eve of their last meeting.

Tears that final evening had fallen on her commander's body, she remembered solemnly, as he lay, barely taking and releasing oxygen, with a lifeless young boy clutched in limp, bloody arms, for the hope she'd clung to had dissipated as crimson flowed down the single concrete step. Only now did she realize that they'd fallen not just for the dead and near-dead on the manor porch, but also for the man whose health matched his intentions and whereabouts both then and at present: Unknown. But there was no-longer any time in her life to cry; no time to feel her body shake and her chest heave; no time to fall to whatever ground lay beneath her knees, sobbing to the culpable heavens.

And yet, thinking of him now, of how long it'd been since last meeting his eyes, how long it'd been since last his hair flowed between her fingers, how long it'd been since last feeling his warmth pressed against her, she felt as if she might do all of those before the orchard of lemon trees. It was almost laughable, that getting out of the big city, where other obligations than just work had kept her rooted, where locations bore the strongest remains of the past, was causing the seal on her heart to weaken so rapidly. Weaken, not fail completely, for unlike those painful hours of her commander's unconsciousness, hope of both his and another's life wasn't utterly gone.

It was this hope, and this hope alone, that was keeping her eyes dry tonight, as each oval of yellow was a painful reminder of what she now understood to be one reason behind her reluctance to leave Central, the other being a promise made from behind a closed apartment door:

She'd been afraid to buy a single ticket, sit through an equally lonesome train ride, never expecting there would be anyone to share the sweets and scenery with upon her arrival; had she not been ordered out, and had the name 'Xenotime' arise first, its meaning only coming to her in subconscious, inexplicable bursts preceding her first view of the orchard, she might've thought to spare herself the pain.

A slight chill touched her ankle, then traveled up her legs, hips, and spine, until it became a full-on shiver: Motion enough to break the trance she'd found herself residing in. It was an awakening that resembled something like a hand to her shoulder, asking for her attention with gentle fingers. Feelings of the cold, sounds of the wind, and even sights of her own shadow returned with the icy stroking of her skin, and she turned away from the trees, still only half-aware of her senses.

Time had elongated her shadow, stretching the anthropomorphic mass further down the path and nearer to the waiting city. She watched for a moment the wind move her free-flowing hair, ruffle the tips of her sleeves and skirt, its strength not enough to cause a stir within the dark forms of her bag and suitcase.

Then she took a step, followed by another, and soon she found herself following the example of the dark shape before her, hearing once again the faint sighing of the dust beneath her feet and the near-silent murmurs of her breath. Though the trees were behind her now, the smell of citrus and its origin would stay with her long after the scent evaporated. Dear though her memories were to her, they'd eventually faded to images and sounds seen and heard sparingly, perhaps in dreams or while in total solitude. But now that they'd returned, stronger than before their slumber, she knew she would face his beautiful smile and hear his velvety voice every moment, regardless of moonlight or sunlight: He would never leave her mind now, forever present to her consciousness as the aroma of lemons to her nose.

Accepting this inevitability, however, didn't weigh on her chest as much as she'd expected it to. Since the title of 'missing' was officially given to him, nearly every memory of him that she had, joyous or otherwise, brought a pain like knives stabbing into her heart-hopeful or not, she couldn't help worry. This instance of nostalgia was much different from previous times, other than the fact of its impending continuity, in that it brought peace: Finally understanding why she'd felt an urge to come here was relieving, while at the same time hope apparently lost was returned on a gentle breeze.

"Here or not," Riza thought aloud, "he's out there somewhere."

She continued to walk, mind in the past as her feet moved her forward, until she caught sight of an ivy-striped sign. Without stopping, she read a cheerful greeting painted in yellow against a black backdrop:

**Now entering Xenotime: The city of gold!**

* * *

As she took her first steps into the main area of the city, lights of streetlamps and house-owned lanterns began to flicker to life, while the silence of the path faded into various voices and sounds. Snatches of conversation reached her with the soft wind, some serious, some consisting greatly of laughter, while the occasional clink of a glass or the scratch of a fork on a plate came from one of the many open windows. There were people around her now as well: Large, muscular miners of the town's famous gold, thinner, but not too thin, farmers, children, domestic animals, and the mother's and wives of each one, all going about on last-minute errands, evening strolls, or a bit of playtime in the twilight. Not often did she get a chance to see things like this, as the citizens in Central lacked the time and the greenery to move about their city as those of Xenotime did, and she could've easily leaned herself up against one of the abundant trees and watched as the town slept and awakened to the casual rhythm found only in the country. But first things first, it was getting darker by the second, and she required both a hotel and something to eat.

Her pace slowed rather than quickened as she examined the city, turning her head this way and that in search of a sign to name the tavern. There were enough houses around her to cement Xenotime's small-town classification, all painted various shades of yellow, light-blue, and the lightest possible tan. Further confirming that fact were the greetings she received from nearly every face she met: The kind of greetings that could come only from those who knew their neighbors well, and saw a visitor as a new one rather than merely another tourist. Flowers and trees were plentiful, growing between each house, by each door, around each tree and even in the middle of the dirt path; like the trees of the orchard, splashes of orange and gold could be seen within their branches even with the minimal illumination. Almost as numerous as the plants were small stands, each one with a sign that read 'closed' hanging from a painted roof onto a long tarp covering the table. Going on what she knew about the town, she could assume the stands' uses: In the morning, the goldsmiths would sell their wares stacked on decorated shelves and hanging from fancy metal mobiles, while the farmers would sell their citrus, and perhaps vegetables, at simpler stands from large wooden crates; in the sun, drops of water would sparkle over the freshly-rinsed produce, and the precious-metal would shimmer, their natural beauty accented by the rays of light.

Many stands and countless 'hello's later, she finally found herself before Xenotime's single inn. It was a two-story building, three windows measuring its width and four measuring its length. Below each window was a box of flowers, white in the light spilling from within, and beside each corner was a tree, branches just high enough to clear the windows of the hotel and nearby houses. Topping off the building was a shingled roof, slanted to divert rainwater from the guests inside and have it flow down the pallid sides. A smaller slant of shingles protruded out just above the column-framed doorway, and it was there she discovered that the building was known as the Crudus Inn. Just under the title sign that hung from the miniature-roof's edge was another sign, assigning the hotel another name that quickly stole the relieved smile from her face:

No Vacancy.

"Just my luck," Riza let out a long breath, looking through the windows of the hotel like a weary stray rejected on the doorstep. "Now what?" Now she understood why she'd been the only one to get off the train when it arrived at the Xenotime station. Everyone else was already here. But _surely _there had to be another hotel…?

"Um, Miss?" a quiet voice asked. "Do you need some help?"

Riza turned to find a boy at her side, standing to her forearm in green overalls and a white t-shirt. Short tufts of blonde hair fell about his scalp, save for the area of his forehead that was hidden by a headband to match his overalls. Their eyes met with her movement, and as they stared at each other, he waiting for an answer and she deciding weather or not to give one, she noticed a shy smile slowly began to crease his cheeks, sending tiny buds of red blossoming throughout his skin. She smiled not only because of his admittedly cute image, but because of the twinkling blue of his eyes perched just above the grin: A sparkle of innocence, of pure desire to advocate, that already said she could trust him.

"Help and a hotel room," was her chuckled answer.

"I'm sorry," he spoke as if he was to blame for the duo of signs. "You're too late as of yesterday."

"Isn't there another hotel besides the Crudus?"

"There won't be for a few more weeks. It's under construction."

Hopes thoroughly dashed, she sighed, "As I suspected." 

The boy's brow furrowed as he looked at the suitcase beside her and the bag across her chest, his features showing traces of the working matter within his mind. A finger then strayed to his chin, while his eyes fell to the dirt beneath his shoes.

"You don't have to worry about me," Riza smiled, both shocked and flattered by such a strong state of contemplation based off a minute-long acquaintance.

At first he appeared not to hear her, leaving them both in silence while she stared at his eyes that gazed at the earth. Then, echoing in the gradually-clearing streets, there came another voice just as suddenly as the boy's had:

"Fletcher! What are you doing just running off like that!"

Both Fletcher and Riza looked in the sounds direction, and found a man moving towards them with long strides and a small frown. Once he was close enough, it was clear that this was the brother of Fletcher-older, she guessed by his height. He wore a white t-shirt and brown pants, held up by matching suspenders, and had the hair and eyes of his younger brother.

"Jeez! Say something before you just go off on your own," the older brother scolded, giving Riza no attention.

"Sorry, Russell," Fletcher replied. "But she looked like she needed some help."

Russell followed Fletcher's thumb to the woman beside him. As had been the case with his younger brother, their eyes met, and she saw that his blue eyes glistened with the same goodwill as those of his brother. Though the smile spreading across his face at their continued gaze was that of a gentleman as opposed to a shy child.

"Is there something you need, Miss?" asked Russell.

"A room," Fletcher answered for her.

Riza, who'd just opened her mouth, closed it with a click of her teeth and nodded.

Russell folded his arms, face resembling the one she'd seen when Fletcher had begun to think; the likeness was close to the point of being humorous, and she couldn't help but chuckle softly to herself. After a brief moment of holding the expression, Russell turned to Fletcher, "The guest room is still open, right?"

Riza inhaled sharply, "There's no need to-"

Fletcher tapped his cheek with one finger, "I think so."

"I can just-"

"If need be, one of us could use the couch," Russell interrupted. "I wouldn't mind it for…How long did you say you were in town?"

"At least a week," Riza answered more out of habit than actual understanding. "But-"

Matching grins appeared on the brothers' faces. "If you don't mind spending a week in a house with us," Fletcher began, "then we have a room you can stay in! Plus you don't have to pay anything!"

"I couldn't ask that of you," Riza attempted to decline. "Besides, you don't even know my name."

"We can learn it before the week is out."

"That's beside the point. I appreciate the offer but-"

"Listen," Russell interjected, his gaze suddenly serious. "If we didn't trust you completely, and if we thought it would be a burden, we wouldn't be offering. Our house isn't very big, but we've got plenty of room for someone who needs it. And anyway," a small smile turned up his lips, "what other choice to you have?"

Riza looked at him for a long moment, staring into the blue eyes that hadn't left her hazel ones since the first word. There came to them more than just that sparkle of youth she'd seen before: She saw that sparkle tainted by regret, pain, dimmed by experiences that weren't meant to be had by a boy his age. But most of all she saw conviction that could not, would not, be destroyed, even when concerning something as simple as renting out a room. The longer their gaze held, the more defined the smile became on her cheeks.

'_This boy's eyes are…so much like his…_'

"Thank you," she nodded as she spoke aloud. "And my name is Riza."

A full-out grin broke out across Russell's face, though it was Fletcher, countenance the same, who responded, "It's nice to meet you, Miss Riza!"

Looking at the young boy's smile, she had an inexplicable urge to ruffle his hair, but somehow managed to get away with just straightening her skirt and saying, "You too, Fletcher."

"We're in the city's southern sector," Russell pointed, allowing just a few moments for Riza to look down the lantern-lit road before taking a step towards it. Fletcher walked to his brother's side, grinning at Riza over his shoulder, and soon the trio began walking.

For a few minutes the group was silent, passing by more trees, flowers, and houses without a word about them, which left Riza to privately marvel at the brothers without a thought of conversation. They had asked nothing about her, not even her name, before granting her permission to stay in their home; they didn't know why she was here, where she'd come from, or even her last name. All they knew was what she needed and how long she would require it. With how fast things were moving, she couldn't fully comprehend much, but she liked to think she knew one other reason why he'd told her to come here: From the moment you stepped foot within city limits, no matter how long you planned to stay, you were family, and weather he admitted it or not, that was something he'd wished for; something he'd found here, and perhaps wanted her to find, too.

The silence was then broken, however, by Russell's casual question, "So, what brings you to Xenotime, Miss Riza?"

"Just Riza," she clarified. This time she allowed for the smallest hint of truth, "A close friend recommended it."

"Yours and everyone else's" the older brother chortled. "Although, I'd say you got lucky, coming when you did."

"Lucky?" Riza hoped she didn't sound sarcastic. "How'd you figure?"

"You think it's crowded now," Fletcher looked back at her, "you should've been here a few months ago."

Russell nodded, "It wasn't just the inn that was full then, it was the streets, the train station, even our house, as well as anyone else's who was willing to take people in."

Riza raised her eyebrows, and was about to ask why, but soon realized the answer as the city's title flashed through her memory. "It was because of the gold, wasn't it."

The two brothers nodded in unison, then Russell spoke, "If they weren't here to buy it, they were here to mine it; if they weren't here to mine it, they were here to train under our craftsmen. Perhaps it's a blessing that most of those coming for jobs gave up, or we'd've found ourselves with more people than houses. That's why we're building that second hotel, to be prepared for something like that again."

"But why would they come all at once like that?"

"The first gold vein we used dried up, and it was a long time before we were able to dig deep enough to find another one. So when that news got out, people came running for new samples of Xenotime's famous gold work. Once the shock wore off, things slowed down a bit, but people won't stop coming until this new vein of gold dries up like the other one did. But I don't think that'll be happening any time soon."

"Didn't you hear about it, Miss Riza?" asked Fletcher.

"Actually…no," Riza replied, surprised by her own answer. It was the same as on the train: Something big had occurred without her knowledge, and she'd either been too distracted to realize it or had simply been overlooked. She wondered what else was going on in her country that she, a Lieutenant posted in the capital-city's military base, didn't know about.

"I'm surprised," Russell chuckled. "But I guess that means you _were_ lucky."

Riza looked at him, then smiled despite the slight unease at her lack of knowledge, "Yes. I suppose you're right."

"We're here!" Fletcher chirped, jogging away from the group and to the door of a white house not far from where they stood. 

A single concrete step connected it to the dirt road, leading from the dust up to a red-painted door. There were two shutter-less windows on either side of the door, and two above it, creating a square beneath the triangle of a roof. Not far from the first-story windows were a pair of lanterns, shedding light on a row of bushes that lead to a tree on either side; as always, there were yellow bulbs inside the green, but the bushes, unlike the others she'd seen, had the red spots of rosebuds. Ivy climbed up the walls as high as it could without touching the shingles, and all along the vine were small, purple flowers, their blossoms adding splashes of color to the walls, while their shadows left odd shapes in that of the creeper. This display of botany seemed rather extravagant, even when considering Xenotime's ample plant-life, but Riza couldn't say she minded: It was something different from the rest of the houses she'd seen, and she found she liked the variety.

Fletcher took a tarnished key from one of his pockets and turned it in the lock until a soft click could be heard, then opened the door with a squeak of the hinges. Stepping inside after him, Riza found herself staring down a hallway with a set of stairs at its end. She could see as her eyes got used to the hallway's darkness the outlines of what she assumed to be paintings or photographs of some kind, but there wasn't enough light to verify their contents. Only when she reached the edge of the stairs did the flare of a lamp shrink her pupils, showing her a large sitting room with the staircase as a centerpiece. The wall to the left of the stairwell was comprised chiefly of bookshelves, their counters filled from end to end with the spines of books; some were new, others fading, and some were worn to the point of nonexistence. Even more books were on the floor by the shelves, open to pages filled with words she couldn't read from where she stood.

A look to the right showed her the table which supported the lamp: It's legs and top were scratched, perhaps out of boredom or an urge to decorate, matching the three chairs that were placed around it. Both on and around the desk were countless sheets of paper, as well as books from the shelves not far away. Still carrying her bags, she went around the stairs to see the fireplace and couch it hid from view. There were black stains on the brick hearth, no-doubt caused by what had made the ashes that sat like burnt snowflakes behind a metal screen; standing upright beside the mouth of the flue was a brass stand with various tools for stoking and snuffing the fire, and on the other side was a small stack of logs. Across from it was a red, three-cushion long couch, with a white blanket draped over the back and a small pillow by one of its arms that told of its general use. Each piece of furniture, scrap of paper, and book all rested on stained white carpet.

"Pardon the mess," Russell called from the entryway, not saying anything more until after the clicking of his shoes on tile ceased. "To the left is the dining room, right is the kitchen, and upstairs are the bedrooms. Yours is the first door you see when you get up there. Fletcher's already got tea started, so it'll be ready when you want it."

"Thank you," Riza answered with a grateful smile, and then made her way back to the front of the staircase.

Upstairs was much cleaner than the first-story, Riza noticed when she reached the top step, though she spoke only for the hallway as each door was closed. There was just a small desk with another lamp to kill the darkness, but she quickly found that the bulb was powerful enough to light the whole story without a single shadow. As Russell had said, there was a door just a few feet away from the top of the stairs. Chuckling softly to herself, she wondered how this room might compare to the entire lower-level of the dwelling, or even to the outside of it, for that matter: Would there be paper-covered tables and crammed bookshelves? Or would she possibly sleep in a greenhouse?

'_Either way_' Riza thought as she clutched the doorknob, '_I'll have to repay them somehow. But I suppose I'll have the week to decide how to go about it._' And with thoughts of possible thanks meandering lazily about her brain, Riza turned the knob and swung open the door.

But just as she began to take a step, something warm collided with her unsuspecting body. The thing grunted as she gasped, and the figure and her each stepped, respectively, back into the room and hallway. Reacting naturally to the mishap, Riza looked up to apologize without fully knowing exactly who or what she'd hit.

Then the figure stepped into the light of the hallway, and everything within her froze.

"Sorry about that, Russell," yawned a newly-awakened Edward Elric. "I didn't know you…were…"

Riza said nothing, barely finding the strength to stand, as she stared into his shocked, sleep-dazed eyes.

"Ed…Edward…?" she choked out at last.

"Ye-yeah…? But-?"

Riza didn't let him finish his sentence. She dropped her suitcase, not caring that it tumbled down the stairs, and leaped forward, wrapping her arms around him in a hug so tight it hurt, pressing his body to hers, resting her chin on his strong shoulder.

Then something went wrong.

Edward exploded out of her arms, pushing her back so hard she nearly followed her suitcase down the stairs. His amber eyes were wide and scared when they met hers again, distorting her reflection like a warped mirror; nothing like the eyes she remembered. And then he shouted, voice cracking with distress:

"Who the _hell_ are _you_?"


	5. Over the Boundless Landscape: Prologue

**Over the Boundless Landscape-Prologue**

When Lieutenant Havoc opened the office door, arriving just after lunch on that bright, sunny afternoon, he noticed something very wrong with the usual picture: The quadratic indentures in the ceiling were dark, holding within their plastic barriers hollow tubes whose filaments were doing nothing along the lines of conduction, though the day was still quite young, which left the room's only illumination to be thin lines of sunlight piercing through the shaded windows. Truth be told, these were lights rarely turned off at all, because working as an officer at the capital's military headquarters entailed constant supervision, and a vigil wasn't easily kept in darkness; only the closets used by the janitorial staff, the freezers in the cafeteria, and records rooms were permitted shadows. More than one soldier had argued the usefulness of such tight surveillance, saying that this was a time of peace, and had been ever since the military's power had been quartered thrice, for all that they encountered during their stay was night after night of storytelling, card games, and, with the less mature recruits, the occasional game of Truth or Dare, instead of the more extreme scenarios their superiors predicted; but, as the experienced foresaw, their pleas were all in vain.

This Lieutenant, having spent seven of his twenty-eight years in the military, knew these truths of lighting well, and, having a personality defined as blithe to a fault, was barely concerned upon finding the office, which had been empty for no less than half an hour, and would be reoccupied in less than one-third of that time, dark and empty. This had him pausing before the open door, a hominal cumbrance in hallway's beam as it flowed into the room, but otherwise didn't greatly hinder his entrance. Shrugging the abnormality off, he flipped the switch to his right, and shut the door behind him with a small _click_.

Bathed in the dull glow of artificial lamps, the office appeared unchanged by its time in the dark: There was still a heavy file cabinet against the east wall, its top drawer open enough to show the protruding tag of a folder; next to that was a tall bookshelf, consisting less of resource material and more of the novels, magazines, letters, newspapers, and occasional picture book that one of the room's six regulars had decided to shove upon the racks. Finishing up the line was a small bench, generally used by one observing the workings of this particular unit, whose chipping gray-painted form had lately become just a hazardous dust-collector. On the wall to the left was another bookshelf, its twin beside, with each volume organized by genre, author, publishing date, and title-set next to the other, it was clear which belonged to the current staff, and which to the previous tenants. And, right in front of him, was the room's extravagant centerpiece: A large hardwood table, bordered by a series of matching chairs, stretched nearly the entire width of the office, its meticulously polished surface utilized for everything from planning an attack to a game of Shogi. Every office had one, but he doubted those chambers were occupied by such 'interesting' workers; he took a certain pride in this wooden lectern, and all the inimitable events that it had seen, and would see in the coming years.

However, the slab wasn't the last piece of furniture; in fact, if analyzed by a neutral party, it wasn't even the most important. For at the far end of this workspace was another, admittedly smaller, desk that, unlike the central counter, was for use explicitly by one individual: The General's desk.

Few of the current staff had ever sat in the faded leather easy-chair, whose name seemed rather inappropriate for the environment, with its studded back the only portion not hidden by the desktop, and even fewer had opened the drawers they knew could be found on either side of the cave in which the commander's legs would rest, but all had seen its exterior: The hunched reading lamp, the telephone, scratches on both handset and receiver telling a yarn of misuse, the constant stack of papers, both finished or otherwise, and the scattered pencils and pens that kept up the illusion of productivity. Though plans were perfected on its much larger brother, they were first conceived in the mind of the owner of this desk, and then transferred to paper found in its drawers using the writing tools residing in a cup by the lamp, which shed light upon the mess from its place at the corner when the natural light from the windows behind had vanished.

Rarely was this image changed, this normality mutated by even the smallest detail; the table was always clear, awaiting its orders like the fellow soldier it had become, the shelves messy or clean depending on their placement, the bench a useless strip of wood, and the desk of disheveled appearance. And this was most definitely one of those common moments, when all could be seen with its mundane brilliance.

As long as the body, with arms dangling off the desk's rounded edge, was overlooked.

For a brief instant, he was still, gazing with a raised brow at the mysterious lump on top of the desk. He then took a series of tentative steps, moving along the edge of the table, and gradually became near enough to clearly see the familiar tuft of black hair he'd glimpsed many a time in this very room, though never in this position. Seeing it now, he couldn't help but smirk.

"Why, General, I'm surprised at you!"

Roy tilted his head up, turning a glazed, bloodshot, coal-black eye to behold the intruder, though his look didn't last long, for the rapid shrinking of his pupil sent his eyelid rushing downward in defense. To further protect his sensitive eye, as well as decide who it was that would be receiving his snoozy wrath, he raised a single hand to his forehead, shielding his face from the lustrous barrage that he might see clearly; seeing as one of his first conscious realizations was the aroma of cigarettes, however, gave him a fairly strong hunch concerning the person before him.

"What do you want, Havoc?" he growled.

"A raise, some time off, a cute, smart, funny girl who isn't likely to cheat on me," Havoc counted on his fingers. "And a promotion would be nice."

"Well you're not gonna get any of those things from me," the General's head fell to the desk with a resounding _thump_, while his right arm shifted from its place above his eye. Moving nothing but that single appendage, Roy pointed sharply to the door, "If you won't leave, then at least turn off the light. I'm in the middle of something important."

Instead of moving towards the switch, he placed himself on the table's edge, easing himself backwards until the tips of his boots just barely hit the tile. Once in position, he could only smile, placing his blue-eyed gaze upon the ebony knots that riddled his commander's hair, for Havoc knew why he was so quick to shun the company, why he'd been so careless as to turn the lights off, creating the possibility of an inspection of the room, and why he'd been so intent on resting here, of all places, instead of beneath the sheets of a bed that had been used rather sparingly after he'd recovered. Some might say he'd just become sick of it after so long a time of confinement, some might say he was lazy, merely napping on the job out of boredom or disrespect, but those who knew him best were certain of the error in those assumptions, and could give a much more pressing reason why his exhaustion was so critical as to drive him to sleep in an atmosphere such as this.

"Another all-nighter, sir?" asked Havoc gently.

At first, Roy did not move, and Havoc wondered if he was so wearied as to nod off in such a quick span, arm suspended, no less. But slowly, ever so slowly, he let his arm fall, and raised himself up, listening to the melodic popping of each vertebra as his spine gradually found the back of his chair. When his eye opened this time, he triumphantly glared to the ceiling, as if daring the light penetrate his unaccustomed pupil, yet even when his eye remained steadfast in its socket, he still had a look of want about him; this victory over radiance, though he'd appeared desperate to achieve it, didn't bring him the slightest feeling of accomplishment: It had been only one of many battles in this man's personal war, whose end was far out of sight.

"Dissecting every rumor we hear takes a bit longer than you might think, Havoc, low as their numbers may be," Roy answered, his arms folding behind his head. "Not to mention locating and retrieving any and all reports that sound useful, and then reading each one over and over again."

"Perhaps it'd be better," Havoc suggested, a grin on his face, earnest in his tone, "if you did _that_ during the day and slept at night, instead of the other way around."

"I do," he retorted. "You've simply caught me at a bad time."

"And just how many other times would've been bad if I'd happened upon the room then?"

Roy flinched, and then sighed, sinking deeper into the cushion of his chair. "Since when did you get in the habit of worrying, Lieutenant?"

"Beats me," Havoc eased back on the table, using his hands for support, and gazed at the ceiling like a child would a starry sky. "Everything's changing around us. Guess it's only natural we do, too."

A cough replaced a chuckle on the General's lips. "I suppose you've got a point. Though I'm not so sure that change is always a good thing."

"Hm. Suppose you've got a point…"

For a few minutes after that, silence once again filled the room, leaving the two soldiers to wander in their own muddled thoughts. It was only now that Havoc realized just how empty the office could feel, though he'd been here alone more than once in his career: How lonesome the set of chairs appeared when unoccupied, how the dust on the bench meant for company saddened him; even the gloom of the bookshelf, with its long-abadoned picture books, once used to entertain the little girl of a beloved comrade on her occasional visits, their broken spines jutting-out haphazardly from the structure, as if pleading to be removed from this terrible place, and returned to the loving home in which their young owner lay. No one really knew if she'd ever come here again; after what had happened to the caring man who'd bought them for her, most highly doubted it. But there were many who'd left this place, their return always questionable and, at times, impossible, and while some left physical manifestations of their residence here, others left only images on the things they'd used, the places they'd been, and in the minds of all who'd seen them.

Just how many times had Roy been faced with these images while alone in the dead of night, willingly braving the desolation found within the empty room? Just how many times had the faces come to him, blissfully unaware of the pain their images brought? Perhaps, Havoc thought, that was one reason why he was so adamant about this investigation: For him, there were already enough smiling ghosts in this room; he didn't need another face of the missing or deceased greeting him cheerfully from atop the dusty bench. Of course, that was just one possible reason, for Roy wasn't the kind of man to go through as much trouble as he was for a reward that he alone would be receiving.

'_There's someone else he's doing it for,' _Havoc smiled. '_A lot of someones, really. But mostly-"_

Roy cleared his throat, "Havoc."

Startled, the Lieutenant jumped at the sound. "Huh?"

"Do you know when…she left…?"

Havoc's smile wavered, but he managed to keep it up, if only slightly. "On the 8:15, sir, to Xenotime. I caught her on the way here. She said to tell you all…goodbye."

Roy was silent again, for a long while, before eventually murmuring, "Xenotime, huh? Wonder why."

"They've been producing gold for a while now. Shopping maybe?" Havoc shrugged, though knowledge of her character made that possibility a highly slim one. "It's beautiful country either way. I'm sure she'll finally get a chance to relax a little."

To Havoc, Roy didn't respond, but to himself, '_For now, I guess, that's all I can give her."_

Havoc watched the face of his commander, perhaps waiting for some kind of reaction, but received the same brooding stare directed at the light fixtures above. Sighing, he turned his gaze downward, facing his reflection in the polished surface of his wooden perch; in it, all of him seemed to darken, except for his eyes, which still shone brightest blue in the deep russet of their mirror. He ran a single hand over the weald, feeling the tiny scratches and flaws that came as a result of a stray pen, a coaster-less glass of water, or even an unstable bowl of hot soup, while the perfection of an offhand clearing emphasized his fingers' own calluses; it felt nice on his skin, in a strange kind of way, though he couldn't fully explain why, and he saw the edges of his impression's mouth turn up at the sensation.

'_I'll bet this old thing looks…beautiful in the moonlight.'_

"Roy," Havoc began after a time, grin slowly fading with the motion of his hand. "Everything that Furey said...about what he saw that night…You really think it's true?"

But Roy just closed his eye, plunging the visible world into darkness, and gave no spoken answer; Havoc, however, needed no words to comprehend. And thus, it was quiet; a peace that showed no crack in its quiet defenses. And all contained in the room was still.

_SLAM!_

"General Mustang!" cried a familiar, breathless voice from the doorway, coming on the gust of wind from the swinging aperture.

Havoc fell, arms flailing, backwards onto the table, while Roy fell forwards, colliding forehead-first with a pencil.

_SLAM!_

"Damn, Furey!" Havoc rubbed the back of his head. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"I'm sorry…sir," the glasses-wearing soldier panted. "But…we…found…pic…"

"Calm down, Furey," the General ordered calmly, massaging the hexagonal indenture in his face. "What is it?"

As he paused before the General's desk to catch his breath, the two officers were given a chance to examine this sudden arrival: His glasses were crooked, his hair was messy, and from his quick breathing, as well as the dark stains on the neck of his uniform, they could assume he'd run the whole of his path to the office from wherever he'd been. Actually, this was quite normal for the Master Sergeant, seeing as his eagerness to please often had him running about the halls. However, the fact he'd failed to knock, another Furey custom, already had them suspicious, but when they found his right hand, pressed against his heaving chest, they saw another abnormality that had them sweating as well.

"What is that, Furey?" Mustang demanded. 

He took in a long breath, and then let it noisily out. "Lieutenant Breada…He took it while out on special assignment. Three days ago, by the date on the back. I-I just received it a few minutes ago." Holding the photograph out, he appeared close to tears, but there was something about the shocked glint in his eye, the disbelieving and excited feel to his smile, that had the pair feeling certain this paper square would bring them good news.

General Mustang took the photograph in his trembling fingers; the room held its breath.

At first, the commander did nothing but furrow his dampening brow, single-eyed gaze so heated that it was feared the print might combust. But in the luster of high-noon, his muscles shifted, changing his expression slowly from one of concentration, to one of utter stupefaction. Once he blinked, twice he blinked, alternating the negative's distance to his eye, as if space between might transmute the image captured by the shutter. Then, finally, he started to smile.

The first one to be genuine in a long, long, while.

"Furey!" Roy's eye was wild, all of him exuding an inescapable air of excitement. "Where was this taken?"

"Just outside of Bestou!"

"Did anyone follow him?"

"They tried, sir, but unfortunately we lost the trail. It's all explained in the letter Lieutenant Breada sent with the photo. I've got it right here."

Havoc finally spoke while Furey rummaged through his pockets. "What's going on here!"

There was a pause on the part of both Sergeant and General, wherein each turned to face the Lieutenant. Roy, smiling all the while, held the picture out to him, leaving Furey to wiggle about in his own elation where he stood. Havoc did not take it, but studied it intently from his spot on the table's edge, leaning closer that he might fully take it in. Not a second after his review began, his eyes burst open wide.

"Well I'll be damned!"

In the dense forest surrounding Bestou, shown as the photo's backdrop, there was but a single obstruction; one deviation in the green and brown tapestry that was its content.

"By God, Lieutenant…"

Even with the film's poor quality, it was clear the obstruction was a human, unaware that his intrusion upon the wilderness had been dedicated to the memory of another besides himself. A man with clothes of red and black covering the lean body that supported his head, boasting thick hair, long, blonde, and braided. A man with eyes so penetrating, so strong, so painfully sad, that no amount of time would ever allow their effigy to sip from your recollection. A man whose life had, at last, been proven intact, after two harrowing years of sleepless nights, fruitless searches, and unavailing investigations.

"We've found him! We've finally found him!"


	6. Over the Boundless Landscape

**Over the Boundless Landscape**

**Secrets Illuminated in Darkness**

For Russell Tringham, the day had begun as every other before it, and showed, at least in the early stages of its duration, no signs that he should think it to be anything but ordinary. He had awakened late, thus being forced to quickly shove the breakfast Fletcher always prepared before making the rounds down his throat, and was then headed off towards the mine without a single backwards glance or second thought; a normal start to a day whose routine, as he recalled, had only been broken some minutes ago, with the arrival of Miss Riza Hawkeye. Of course, their meeting didn't appear as too much of an abnormality in his mind, either, as there were always tourists wandering about Xenotime at all hours of the night, let alone just past sunset. True, it had been some time since he'd had to share the house with someone other than his usual company, but this had also been something which he had experienced in the past, during the period in which the mine knew its greatest success. And Riza had appeared common enough—more solemn in terms of appearance when considering the glimmering jewels, fresh produce, and joyous attitudes that had made the town in which she would be vacationing famous, but, other than that, hadn't seemed too different from the countless other travelers whom he'd met in Xenotime throughout the years.

In fact, Riza Hawkeye had, to him, seemed like little more than one of the many visitors' faces residing within his memories: Obscure, distinguishable only by her time of arrival, as well as by the fact that, unlike the countless other expressions he remembered, he was actually able to grant her face a name. He believed her to be, at first glance, strange only in the fact that she was unluckier than any guest of Xenotime had been since they had first struck the new, rich vein of gold, and when he aired his desire to have her share his and Fletcher's home for the week, he did so based on the fact that he could find nothing about her that would cause him to mistrust her, and he had known enough untrustworthy people in his life to believe in his own skill at discerning such qualities.

She had disguised herself well, and he had been careless.

From the fireplace he had come, fresh logs dropped clean and unlit into the flue, as the suitcase dropped down the stairs, and it was upon that suitcase, popped open by force on the final step, that his gaze now rested. As his eyes ran over the gun that lay atop a pair of scuffed black boots, seeing every scratch on the wood laid into the handle, knowing every imperfection in the metal, he understood immediately just why it was that Riza Hawkeye had appeared ordinary before him, and yet also knew everything that should have made him aware of this fact long ago. The seriousness of her countenance, the judicious spark in her eyes which couldn't be masked even by her smile, even the way she walked, straight and precise in both step and posture, had all been attributes made permanent by her training, which she had been unable to hide, and which he had, during his initial glance and all those thereafter, managed to overlook.

They were stepping up their game, thought the young alchemist, blue eyes narrowing. The last time they showed up, they'd asked outright for the location of the Elric brothers, speaking of a sighting just a few days previous, but had been shown the Tringhams instead. Russell had been forced to admit his past crimes, risking arrest when he told them that it must've been he and his little brother who had been seen, no doubt confused for the brothers whose identities they'd stolen so very long ago, but the soldiers had waved it off since no official charges had ever been pressed, and the only one who could do so was missing. They'd come just a few more times after the exposure of his misconduct, each time barking a tale of the discovery of an Elric, and each time they were told the same story over again, until they just stopped arriving, tired of following a dead-end road.

But perhaps the passing years had made them more desperate, willing to investigate Xenotime once again, and more covert in their exploration of what had ceased to be a possibility.

"Who the _hell_ are _you_?!"

Russell started at Edward's sudden outburst and turned to look up at friend and foe from his place at the bottom of the stairs, remembering the deadly instrument resting near his feet. Knowing immediately his required action, Russell grabbed the weapon from its place in the trunk, swiftly slamming its carrier shut, and, wooden handles of the case clutched in his sweaty palm, began to walk swiftly, but calmly, up the staircase.

His eyes never strayed from the back of the strange woman at the top of the stairs, his muscles poised to send him bolting should she show any indication of having a weapon to replace the one hanging at his side, perhaps in the bag slung over her shoulder, but he found she didn't move even the slightest. In a brief instant of contemplation, he wondered if her stillness was actually a product of inexperience, wondered if she was merely a nameless face in the ranks, chosen for a mission she knew next to nothing about, and was unable to fulfill without the aid of her missing armament. After all, everything he now remembered about her that would hint at her career were, in actuality, attributes which could be picked up with only the most basic of military instruction. If this was true, he thought, and she was little more than a grunt, then he was very lucky. Still, he was not so cocky as to let his guard down, despite his beliefs about her status in both the ranks and battle abilities, and was sure to keep alert.

When he reached the top of the stairs, all signs of that alertness vanished, replaced by an easy smile. Not completely certain of the contents of her bag, he pressed the weapon to her jacket in such a way that it would appear he was patting the back of an old friend, sure she would know its pressure; with Edward so close, he dared not threaten her openly, for Edward could not know about the woman what Russell knew—it would cause a panic he had no desire to witness nor attempt to calm.

"Edward," he placed a hand on the frightened alchemist's shoulder, "calm down! I would've come up first to warn you if I knew you were sleeping up here. This," he tilted his head towards a silent Riza Hawkeye, "is our new friend and houseguest, Riza."

Even as Russell's fingers softly reached the fabric of his long-sleeved cotton t-shirt, Edward barely moved, as though full meaning of the contact was lost to something he saw in the eyes of the woman before him, away from which he seemed unable to tear his gaze. Even as he spoke, and for a few moments afterward, Edward appeared not to hear him, as though his words were being blocked by something silently communicated between he and the stranger. He would never know what it was that occurred between the two that would merit such focus, or if it was simply a mingling of their own shock which silenced them so, though he assumed, if only on her part, that it was because all that had made her dangerous was now being held against her spine. It was only after a long silence, broken once by the loud whistling of a tea pot and the sound of a door sliding open, that the churning mixture of fear and surprise, swirling with the activity of his mind, began to subside, replaced with a form of composure which comes with familiar company, and a response was, at last, given.

"Hou…" Edward's voice was low, words passing his lips just as slowly as his eyes moved in Russell's direction. "Houseguest?"

Russell nodded, removing his hand. "Uh huh. Fletcher found her in front of the Crudus, staring up at the 'no vacancy' sign. It was a kind of pitiful sight really," he added with an easy chuckle, jostling her in mock playfulness. "We thought we'd take her in for the week, though I'm afraid she'll have to take the guestroom. You don't mind, do you? Sorry to spring it on you so suddenly."

Blinking twice, Edward turned back to Riza, his eyes running slowly up and down her figure, as though fitting her image to the identity Russell had given her. His body was still tense, and his breath coming swiftly with the aftershock of the unexpected meeting, but it was clear in the gradual vanishing of these characteristics that his anxiety was fading, pushed back by the words of his most trusted companion.

At last, he straightened, gaining his own small, embarrassed smile; Russell's smile could only grow.

"Oh, uh…No, of course not. I'll just take the couch," Edward said distractedly, flattening his clothes absently. "It's, uh, nice to meet you, Riza."

Riza didn't move.

"Thanks, Ed," Russell interjected quickly. "Fletcher's got some tea going downstairs. I'll show Riza to her room and then we'll all join you guys in the kitchen, ok?"

Edward nodded, "Alright." He flashed one last polite smile in their guest's direction, before making his way around her—Russell was careful to slide the gun out of his line of sight— and down the creaking staircase, leaving Riza and the elder Tringham alone before the door to the guestroom.

His smile faded the instant silence returned, an expression of muted anger and concentration taking its place.

"I've got your gun," whispered Russell into the ear of the woman next to him, pressing the barrel against her ribcage; her body twitched, but she was otherwise unresponsive. "Come with me."

Russell felt Riza's sidelong glance collide with his cheek but did not look back, guiding her instead towards a room on their left—his room. He was not forceful, she was not uncooperative, moving slowly but with little influence from him, but his focus didn't wane in the slightest. She turned the knob and pushed open the door, Russell at her back.

The room they entered was dark, blackening further when the dim light pouring in from the hallway was snuffed by the closing door. Its only means of illumination came in the form of a single beam of moonlight shining through the large, rectangular window opposite Russell. Though he knew this room well, knew of every scrap of clothing on the floor and piece of furniture residing in the shadows, he might've sworn that there existed only the glittering pool of silver on the floor, and that the rest of the familiar space had been swallowed by darkness, leaving nothing but infinite shadow in every direction. A chill running suddenly up his spine, he turned away from what just might have been the universe's only glimmering light for the briefest of seconds to look at the painted wood behind him, which the deep pitch refused to reveal, before shaking off his irrational fear and turning back to where he knew the soldier would be.

Riza stood, back facing him, near the far edge of the silver plane, unseen eyes gazing through the glass. Gun raised, Russell began to move slowly towards her, lips parting as he prepared to demand her bag.

"You can put the gun down."

Her soft, almost amiable tone made him stop where he stood, placing him just on the edge of where darkness gave way to silver.

"I'm no threat to you, Russell."

Riza's voice entered the darkness as lightly as a faint summer breeze, yet still managed to sound just as sure and powerful as the tone reserved for those who've served in the industry he so despised.

The elder Tringham gritted his teeth, but otherwise refused to acknowledge that she'd ever even spoke. "Let me see your bag."

A pause fell between them, filled with silence so heavy it was palpable, its presence personified by the alchemist so that he could almost see it writhing in the shadows, curling about his ankles, just beyond the glimmering pool.

In the enduring stillness, waiting for the passing of an eternity, Riza, at last, took the strap off her shoulder and passed it to the boy at her back, never, at least as Russell could see, looking in any direction besides the one which held the window.

Russell snatched the bag from her, his calloused fingers colliding with her own for a brief instant, and, holding it in the glow of the moon, began to rummage through it. What he found were a couple of books, a rotted ribbon, and a single piece of paper—by the seal, he judged it to be a document passed from a superior officer to his underling, perhaps being the written proof of the order he was certain she had received. From its place amongst the other far-less incriminating articles, he lifted the script, its gold stamp shining in the light, and read its contents silently.

"…_Vacation?_" Russell frowned. "_Is that how they're officially justifying it? Makes sense, though, I guess. They accepted their demotion reluctantly enough, so they wouldn't want their new superiors finding out about their little investigation—at least when they refuse to officially sanction it."_

Russell lifted his eyes in Riza's direction, "_And she's a Lieutenant. Not particularly high in the ranks, but not all that low either. However, she's not acting on her own—this order came from a General. From Mustang…General Roy Mustang…" _The name held no relevance for him, but the rank did. If someone that high up on the chain was ordering an investigation, that meant the threat was far-greater than he had initially assumed; considering his predicament, though, there was little he could do to fight it past what he was doing now.Sighing, he slipped the order back into in the bag. "_There's a lot more behind this than just a few scattered remnants of insane loyalists and their captains."_

The document did little to change his opinion of the soldier. As he had previously thought, a Lieutenant wasn't very high in the ranks, and this particular Lieutenant had done little to show that she truly deserved the title. In fact, it seemed highly probable that her rank was temporary, granted unofficially for the duration of this mission but promised to become legitimate should she complete her orders successfully, just so that she might have a taste of the pride every soldier takes in having more stars pinned on their uniform.

He scanned the contents of the bag once more, expression grim, and then looked back to Riza. She was the same as when his eyes had initially left her.

"You're right," he began. "You're no threat to me, because you know I'm prepared to use this." He clicked the safety off and on, eyes looking straight down the barrel at the back of her neck. Then, grip still tight on the handle, he slowly lowered his aim. "But I don't want your life—I simply want you to get out of mine.

"I'm going to give you back your bag and your suitcase, and even your gun, but only once you're on a train and getting the hell out of my town. You'll be staying in this room with me until that happens tomorrow morning, at which time you'll get on the first train that arrives here, regardless of where it's going. Once you _do_ get back to your headquarters, you can tell whoever you answer to that you've found him. But I warn you: The instant you come back looking for him, he'll be gone, hidden so that you won't be able to find him even if you search for another two years, and all of Xenotime will swear up and down that you were simply confused like all the others."

Russell tugged a golden watch from his pocket, raising a thin cover to expose its face. From the hour it expressed, he judged that the first train he spoke of would arrive just before dawn; a little under twelve hours from now. This meant that until that time, barring his explanation to his family of why Riza was unable to leave her room and why she would be leaving so soon after arriving, he would have to be in here, up and awake all night, until she was gone; a small price to pay to keep her and the bastards she worked for from getting their hands on him. He didn't like the idea of leaving her alone for even that small window of time, but he also didn't believe that much would happen, either. She hadn't spoken and had barely moved since he'd found her at the top of the stairs. She was scared; scared of him and the gun; and would be unable to do anything because of it. Just as well, she must know that escaping would not help her, as she had nowhere to go, and could be easily found by one who knew the layout of the town. A small, triumphant smirk appeared on his face; they had sent little more than an easily frightened grunt, and because of this, they had failed once again.

Russell nodded conclusively, smiling as he turned back to the soldier by the window.

What he saw as he looked up was the silhouette of Riza Hawkeye, moving slowly, with almost inhuman deliberation, within the confines of her silver prison. An ebony statue given a breath of life, she stepped closer to the window, hand raised to brush against the glass. Silver shards danced over her fingers as they touched the transparent barrier, their brilliance a sharp contrast to the rest of her blackened form. Her head shifted, and Russell knew she was looking at her hand, sparkling in the evening splendor which graced it, but the light shied away from her face, leaving her emotions in the dark.

Riza ran her fingertips gently across the glass. "Why didn't you mention it to him, Russell Tringham?"

"What?" Russell's eyes narrowed.

"Why did you not let him know what you know, that I'm not just some tourist, but a soldier on leave? You knew my profession long before you read the orders in my bag. You knew because you recognized my weapon. And yet you didn't bother to change my name. Why does my career matter and not my name?"

Russell ground his teeth. He hadn't expected her to question anything that had transpired. Either way, though, considering the ulterior motive she was 'cleverly' masking as a vacation, he found he didn't really feel like divulging anything personal, nor did he want to speak with a soldier about the man he'd worked so hard to shelter from others of her kind.

"My reasons are my own," he answered vaguely. "And I see no—"

"And just what _are_ those reasons?" she interrupted, voice infinitely more substantial. "Are they anything like the reasons you used to justify your _lying_ to an entire town?"

Russell's stomach tightened; he could feel the guilt and the self-loathing, coupled with that of Xenotime, beginning to churn in his gut. He clenched his fists, quelling his emotional nausea with the more timely sensation of anger. "You're going to talk to _me_about lying when you've been keeping the truth from me from the very beginning?"

"I was following my orders."

"Was carrying around a gun part of those orders?!"

Riza's fingers twitched. "Dammit!" she spat to herself.

"I'm not as easy to fool as you think I am, Lieutenant Hawkeye," Russell growled; the guilt he felt for his acts in the past still haunted him years later, and he found it easy to give himself over to his temper when someone like her brought them up—someone who had no right to mention his mistakes. "I know your real excuse for being here—why you have that gun, why you're not in uniform and why you're in Xenotime at all. So just cut the crap!"

Riza turned to face him now, bringing a portion of her visage into the wash of light. Her eye, placed above sheltered lips, was wide with shock and filled with anger as it fell upon him, and he could sense the same from the other hazel pupil which the darkness concealed, but Russell was unfazed.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she shouted. "Everything you read in that letter explains—"

"Shut up! That letter is a lie and we both know it! It's nothing but a cover-up for murder!"

"Murder!?"

"The murder—or, in your terms, execution—of the fugitive, Edward Elric, as ordered by Fuhrer King _Bradley_!"

A quiet, barely audible gasp sounded from the unseen lips of the soldier, her body suddenly lurching back as though shoved by a powerful and unexpected force; at the window, her hand jerked violently, her nails squealing against the glass. Through it all, he watched her eye, saw the chocolate-brown pupil darting back and forth in her cornea. All of her emotion he perceived in that eye, as she seemed incapable of saying a word.

"You thought that was secret kept from everyone but military personnel, didn't you?" he sneered, relishing his victory. "Unfortunately for you, it was leaked to my brother and me about two years ago. We were taken for the Elrics and almost killed, but they found the real brothers before our sentence could be carried out—but not before we overheard them discussing the orders that came 'straight from Fuhrer Bradley himself!' Naturally," he added, "I remember the make of their guns quite well."

Riza's eye froze, locking onto his, but she failed to respond.

To the face of Russell Tringham, there came a triumphant scowl. He had won—he was sure there would be no further argument. After all, what could she say? He had spoken the ultimate truth, revealed the fact she'd been working to hide since the first day she'd received the order. No longer could she feign innocence—not with all the evidence he had stacked against her. She would be silent for the rest of the night, unable to argue any more, since she possessed nothing tangible to prove the validity of hers or of any future claim, and after the sun rose, never again would he, Edward, or his little brother, have to see her again.

"That's why…"

Riza's quiet voice cracked. Russell's irritation returned.

"Because of that, you've kept his existence a secret for this long?!" She barely got above a whisper, her eye unmoving as she questioned him. "You've kept him hidden from the rest of the world simply because you _still_ _don't trust the military!?_"

"I've kept him _safe_."

Riza lunged forward.

Her fingers wrapped about his wrists, nails digging into his skin. Before he could react, she jerked him toward her, her stolen belongings crashing to the floor as his grip failed. In an instant, he was pinned against the window, arms twisted behind his back.

"Nngh!"

"Bull _shit_ you've kept him safe!" Riza snarled in his ear. "All you've done is kept him away from his family, from his friends! What you've done is kept him im_prisoned_! All because of an order that died the _second_ Bradley did! Not to mention the fact that you chose to hide complete memory loss; hide it from everyone except the people of a town that barely know him! People who can't help him at all! Did you think it would just go away if you waited long enough?! Were you that frightened of a military that can't send out a _single troop_ without running the order by at least one-_hundred_ other people that you didn't even _bother _ to try and find someone he knew?!

"Or did you think they were just better off thinking he was_ dead!?_"

Russell's ears rang and his shoulders throbbed; her viselike hands held his arms firmly and painfully in position. He gasped, lungs fighting to expand against compressed ribs.

"Don't talk like you understa—"

Only when he felt the contact did he realize that she'd spun him around and slammed him against the window. His shoulder blades were instantly throbbing, his breath leaving him on impact. He saw her visage fully now, ablaze with silver, clenched teeth sparkling in the moonlight. Their eyes locked.

"_As God is my witness, Russell Tringham, I will __**kill**__ you if you say one more word!_"

And in that moment, as the blood drained from his face, he had no doubt that she would.

"Two years. Two _years_ he's been dead to so many people and alive only to you; and even then he was dead. His mind had passed on to some place than might have been reachable if not for you and your cowardice. Now, who knows? So long without a mind may have permanently barred us from his memories, and the blame would rest solely on your frightened, ignorant shoulders. It would be your fault for fearing the release of a truth that could only have helped him, instead clinging to some ancient threat you only recalled because you were too _weak_ to forget your fear. And so you lied with your silence, manipulating an entire town into doing the same! You would've kept on lying, too, even after I'd left. Hell, you were going to lie to the _military—again!—_ once I reported Edward's presence here. And all for the sake of your own fear and paranoia!

"My hatred for you, Russell Tringham, is surpassed only by my dis_gust_!"

He could smell the sweetness of her breath and his head began to swim with it, with fear, and with the pain in his chest, wrists and shoulders; the latter had only grown worse—her nails were like knives in his skin.

But he had not looked away, and he did not look away even when the only audible noise was her breathing. Once their eyes met, they stayed firm, and Russell had felt the full force of her fury hammering against his skull, and still it pounded silently and relentlessly into him as time dragged on. But still he gazed, unblinking, into her dark-brown eyes.

He saw himself reflected in them, an ugly, frightened shell of himself that he'd never seen before. Could that be what she'd so easily reduced him to, with little more than threats and minor pain?

Or maybe everything she'd said was true, and the Russell he saw in the vengeful mirrors before him was a Russell born that night two years ago when he'd chosen to run, brought to life once more by the utterance of its birthing truth. That time, he had believed himself to be doing the right thing, had thought without a doubt that returning to Xenotime, not risking a stay in Central for more than one night, was the right course of action. And, yes, perhaps that still held true; he cared very much for Edward, and his safety was a prime concern. But perhaps it was also true that his mind had concocted that excuse to save himself from acknowledging that he was afraid. Afraid of the military who'd almost taken their lives, afraid of what they hadn't seen in the underground after they'd found him. Too afraid even to recall the faces of the only other soldiers they'd ever trusted besides the Fullmetal Alchemist: A man and a woman, a Sergeant and a Lieutenant, who'd rescued him and his brother from their prison and taken them to the real Elric brothers.

Russell watched the face of fear twist into an expression of anger and shame. His own fear had kept him from remembering those nameless officers, and as such he had forgotten completely about people just like them: People, both military and otherwise, who had sympathized with the plight of the Elrics since long before Russell and Fletcher had ever even met them. Instead, he'd focused on the sheltering of Edward, on the protection of a happiness that was based on the dull acceptance of his life as it was and not as it had been. He'd thought nothing of the pain of those that might still remember the Fullmetal Alchemist, of those that had known him, did know him, and wished for his return, focusing instead on his own anxiety.

The true nature of her hared of him became utterly clear now, and was, at the same time, fathomless. Russell now saw it in her eyes and heard it in the speech that still rang in his ears—the abhorrence that can only be expressed by one who has known great suffering, as well as been witness to the pain of others, to the one who had been that suffering's author—yet he knew it was coming from the very core of her being, and he could not begin to comprehend the depth of emotion that existed there.

With this realization came an influx of sorrow and disgrace as he hadn't known since his first days in Xenotime. It solidified in his throat and rushed over his brain, making his head pound while he seemed to be suffocating, and only now, now that the power of his own emotions at last overrode her own, did he finally look away, glaring at the shimmering carpet.

The pressure on his body abruptly subsided, and Russell found himself sliding a short distance before his feet touched solid ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Russell watched Riza's hands returned neatly to her sides. She took a small step back. Russell could not look up.

"I won't leave as long as he's here," she assured him flatly, not a hint of question in her tone. "I'll keep the details about my identity from Edward and Fletcher. You tell them yourself."

Riza bent to retrieve her things, having to gather up the few articles that had fallen from her bag when she'd grabbed him, and then straightened. Without another glance back at him, she turned for the door, her form disappearing into the darkness around the silver square. The yellow glow of the lamp in the hall revealed her likeness for a brief moment, piercing the surrounding darkness as it did so, and then vanished, leaving him alone; the only being in a cold, silent universe of black and white.

* * *

Russell and Flecther Tringham.

Riza should have immediately recognized the names of the two brothers who had once impersonated the Elrics, having heard about them time and time again over the past two years. She should've recalled the face of her commander, exhausted and irritated, as he told his subordinates of the supposed sightings in Xenotime he had investigated, proven false by the Tringhams' testimony. She should've recalled the glimmer of sadness in the general's eye when their existence dashed his hopes, as well as her own sorrow, rising from within the small, unperceivable portion of herself into which she had tucked it. She should've recalled the reluctant mentioning of the imposters whenever one of the radical groups—composed of low-ranking soldiers who had deserted the military to fulfill the last orders given by the late Fuhrer, as they would be unable to do so legally while ruled by a government who decided against enforcing now-pointless orders made under the old regime—happened to appear in the paper after entering Xenotime, making a scene the moment they stepped into town.

But the passage of time, and her own reluctance to keep something that had proven its futility many times in her memory, had made her blind to the importance their names should have immediately held for her. And so she had felt nothing, not even the slightest twinge of suspicion when they smiled and told her their names, and had gone with them without a second thought regarding their identities.

And perhaps, she thought, throwing open the door to the guestroom, this was not only due to her own ignorance, but to the way she had first viewed them upon entering town. What she had seen were two polite young boys who were willing to give without the promise of anything in return; two kind strangers who accepted her without question; two children with clear blue eyes that betrayed a tentative mingling of youth and maturity; two children who reminded her of someone she very rarely equated anyone to. It wasn't until after the discovery of their prisoner that she had felt a slight tug at the back of her mind, eventually expanding into the memories flashing before her, and saw them at last for what they truly were:

Liars.

Riza's hand shook, thoughts entering her perception like salt enters a wound, as she slammed the door loudly behind her. For a few moments, her fingers rested lightly on the knob, while her eyes stared blankly into the darkness, glazed with rage and unable to focus. She couldn't even recall being curious about the contents of the space now shrouded in darkness. It only mattered now that she was away from the boy who had caused her and so many others to suffer. She left off the lights and relished her solitude, without care for the surroundings which granted it to her.

When at last her fingers fell, so, too, did her belongings crash dully to the carpet. The contents of her bag tumbled outward, spilling into the empty pitch. Their cry as they landed echoed briefly, and then all was utterly silent. Her now-free hand strayed to her head, the other clenched at her side, and pressed itself to her forehead. Within her skull, her brain was throbbing, writhing and thrashing about with innumerable sensations, and she could do nothing to cease its constant, painful motion. For back in the room across the hall, everything she'd ever felt and suppressed over the passing years had suddenly come surging out, forming into a single wave of anger that she had been unable to control. Remnants of that wave remained, trickling through her veins and into her muscles, filling them with energy and making them tremble, but the pain brought with it was unbearable to the point of exhaustion. And so she stood, with excess energy begging to be released and no physical desire to release it, a figure shaking in agony before the door, yearning strangely for a few moments of feeling nothing as she had known in the hall, yearning for the shock-born numbness that had carried her to Russell's room—just a few moments of that wonderfully dull insanity that had come before madness.

But she remained inexorably conscious. And all she could see was the face of Russell Tringham, smiling at her deceptively while pointing her own gun at her chest. And all she could think of was _him_, alone in the room she now occupied, living a life that was not now, and never should have been, his own. Riza clenched her teeth.

"Dammit!_"_

The voice was thick and raspy, unfamiliar. It came again, accompanied by a loud banging.

"_Dammit!_"

Her clenched fist throbbed against the door.

A useless aid for her agony, her hand fell from her forehead, slipping down her front before landing roughly at her side. She stared once again into the darkness of the room, seeing through her now-adjusted pupils that it was incomplete, its perfection broken by the light that crawled beneath the door and the dim glow coming through the window. In with the former, arriving in the silence, came laughter, light and sweet and innocent.

Fletcher. Fletcher laughing with one whose laughter no one had known for what seemed like a lifetime. And even now it was unheard—his joy silent next to that of the younger Tringham.

But she could imagine it, could see him down in that small living room, happiness manifesting in a smile as he raised a tea cup to his lips—the motion of his throat as he swallowed, the warmth of his breath as it left him in a sigh, the sound of his voice, rich with contentment. All existing but a few steps away.

In a sudden burst of motion, she damned the pain and marched through the darkness towards the window, hating the light just beyond the door and all that came with it, all its tempting pieces of his present existence that it placed before her, but that she couldn't bring herself to fully look upon. For that existence, she knew, was false; nothing more than a visual reproduction of the man she knew, born of the fear and ignorance and lies of one stupid child.

Yet, as she stared out over the boundless landscape, painted ebony and silver by the light of a moon she could not see, she knew that she had been seduced by that lie. Even knowing that his soul was hollow and his mind filled with empty, pointless memories, she loved him still, if only for the fact that she had felt that love again; that overwhelming, untainted affection she could only vaguely recall. She loved what he made her feel even as she hated it; loved how warm and familiar their embrace had been even as his violent rejection left her raw.

Loved the very sight of him even as it tore her apart.

Riza lifted her hand to the window, running her fingers over the night-chilled glass. The dim light did not reveal her face, but she supposed she wouldn't have looked upon it had she the ability. Her eyes remained on the abyss at the edge of the horizon.

It was there that he truly existed, dead at the furthest edge of her perception, shrouded in obscurity.

One last flare of heat rose in her chest, and she slammed her fist against window, feeling her cheeks contort in a scowl as the world shook before her. And then her hand fell to her side and her body grew cold. She saw him smiling in her mind's eye, and at last heard his laughter rising up the stairs and through the door.

"_Edward…"_

A cloud passed over the moon.


End file.
